Deeper Within Darkness
by Laurie M
Summary: It is a truth universally acknowledged that wherever Rick O'Connell and Evelyn Carnahan are, trouble is not far away. What begins as an innocent night out, soon leads to danger that threatens all of Egypt. COMPLETED
1. Personally, I think the locusts

Author's Note: This is, potentially, a fanfic of a decent length! There will be romance, there will be adventure and, with a bit of luck, the odd flash of humour. Rick, Evelyn, Jonathan and anyone else from the film who may appear belong Mr Sommers and Universal. Everyone else is mine, but I would be willing to do a swap.

Feedback would be gratefully received, thank you. So, enjoy the story and proceed down the page to...

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**_"Deeper Within Darkness"_**

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By Laurie**__**

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Chapter One: Personally, I Think the Locusts were Preferable

'Remind me again, why are going to this thing?'

'Because I... Well... We were invited and we said yes, all right?'

'You mean _you_ said yes. It's not like had a say in the matter.'

Evelyn rounded on him, her eyes narrowing. 'Ooh!'

Before she could begin scolding, however, Rick O'Connell caught her around the waist and gently pulled her towards him.

'All I mean,' he said slowly, giving her what he liked to imagine was his most charming smile, 'is that we don't really have to go to this party, do we?'

She didn't answer, simply allowing herself to be pulled into his arms.

'I know you're all dressed up, but we could just run away...' He ran one finger along the curve of her neck and her eyes flickered closed momentarily. 'We could have dinner in one of those quiet little restaurants you like, y'know, where you have to take a water-taxi down the river to get to...'

Evelyn opened her eyes and managed to extricate herself, partially, from that seductive embrace.

'We can't, Rick. We said we'd go and we can't just back out now - it would be terribly bad form.'

She cringed inwardly, hearing her own words. It sounded just like Jonathan in one of his more pompous moments. The reception at the British Embassy was, admittedly, not something she was looking forward to: but Evelyn had been brought up in the tradition that once you had made a commitment, you kept it. It was taking every ounce of self-control she had not to take Rick's suggestion an in those moments she wanted nothing more than to let him do whatever he wanted. But being alone with Richard O'Connell, she had realised fairly early on in their relationship, was a dangerous proposition. Not because he pressured her, but because just being with him weakened all of her resolve. Especially moments like this, when it was a perfect, balmy Cairo night and the moonlight softened the contours of his handsome face and made his blue eyes burn even more brightly than usual. A comma of hair had fallen across his forehead and she brushed it back, her fingers lingering against his skin slightly longer than was absolutely necessary. She heard his shape intake of breath and dropped her eyes from his, feeling a flush burning up her cheeks. Evelyn finally stepped out of his embrace, smoothing her hair with one hand and then readjusting the thin silk wrap around her shoulders. Her eyes were drawn, for the thousandth time, to the unaccustomed glint on her left hand. It was a simple but exquisitely beautiful ring: a square-cut green diamond set in white gold. He had presented it to her with that air of self-consciousness he gained whenever he had anything important to say to her. It had to have been ridiculously expensive and she had told him so. Rick, however, was undeterred by her protestations. The bounty they had discovered hidden in the saddle bags on their return from Hamunaptra had furnished all of them with more money than they could imagine and far more than they really knew what to do with. Jonathan had headed for the nearest gambling house - Rick, on the other hand, seemed determined to spend it on anything and everything he thought Evelyn could possibly want or need.

Or, to put it in his own, more blunt words: "What the hell else am I going to spend my money on?"

Flowery speeches were not something she could expect from her fiancé. What she could expect was a man who would willingly give up his life to save hers and who looked at her as though she were a goddess.

Rather the way he was looking at her now and Evelyn felt herself weakening.

'Rick...'

She stepped towards him, resting both hands on his chest, her head tilting upwards to his.

'Aren't you two bloody well finished yet?'

They both let out groans and Rick briefly allowed his forehead to rest against hers before turning to glare balefully at Jonathan who was waving to them frantically.

'Come on.' He placed one hand under her elbow, gently steering her towards the steps. 'I'm definitely taking you out tomorrow night. And if your brother thinks he's tagging along, I'm gonna drop him into the Nile, head first, with weights on his ankles. Okay?'

Evelyn laughed slightly, 'Okay.'

They joined Jonathan at the foot of the staircase and he looked at the couple in disgust.

'It's come to a pretty pass,' he grumbled, 'when I'm the member of the family with some sense of decorum. Lovemaking in the grounds of the British Embassy isn't really the done thing, you know.'

Rick and Evy glanced at each other, biting back smiles - and in Rick's case a rather rude comment - and meekly followed Jonathan up the stairs and into the imposing Embassy building.

Ever since they had returned from their time in the desert - and since Jonathan had realised that O'Connell wasn't going to go away, but was actually set on pursuing Evelyn - Jonathan had occasionally shown signs of asserting himself as Evy's Older Brother. As someone who had never shown responsibility for anything, it amused Evelyn no end to see Jonathan look at her and Rick disapprovingly and make vain attempts to keep the young soldier at bay.

Such attempts, however, never lasted long and by the time they reached the huge set of double doors and had presented their invitations, Jonathan had reverted to his normal self and was eagerly anticipating a night of free champagne and flirtation with the wives of assorted diplomats.

Evelyn surveyed the room, surreptitiously smoothing her hair again. She had never been one of those glamorous girls and, despite her new dress and coiffured hair, she felt slightly intimidated by the array of satins, silks and jewels floating about the reception room.

'Will you stop that? You look fine. Fantastic,' Rick amended hastily. 'You look fantastic.'

She looked at him, her smile half-chastising, half-grateful. He looked her up and down, a playful glint appearing in his eye, before placing a hand under her elbow.

'I guess you're not a total loss.'

'Ooh!' Her smile broadened slightly. 'Scoundrel.'

'Oh, please!'

Jonathan looked at them in disgust. 'If this is the way it's going to be for the rest of the night, you can bloody well be the designated driver, O'Connell! Now, where's the bar?'

'I could always drive,' Evelyn added, helpfully.

'No!' It was a perfect unison.

She looked between the two men. 'I'm a very good driver.'

'Yeah, 'course you are, honey.' Rick steered her gently towards the top of the staircase. 'I'll drive,' he mouthed to Jonathan over her head. And then winced as an elbow hit him sharply in the stomach.

'I saw that,' she muttered, mutinously. 'Whose side are you on, anyway?'

'I'm not on anyone's... Yours. I'm on your side.'

'Evelyn!' A bright voice, trilling across the room, interrupted any further bickering.

Evelyn turned in the direction of the voice. 'Oh no!'

'What's wrong?'

She inclined her head miserably towards the woman now making her way up the stairs towards them.

'Selina Marshall,' Evelyn replied in a low voice. 'If you thought the ten plagues of Egypt were bad...'

Rick O'Connell looked at his fiancée in some surprise. He had never heard her talk about anyone like that before. He looked at the newcomer with renewed interest, wondering what it was about her that had made Evy sound so ... so ... catty.

It took him about ten seconds to work it out.

'Evelyn, Darling!' Selina kissed the air a few inches from Evy's cheek. 'My, you're looking wonderful! What _have _you been doing with yourself?'

'Hello Selina,' she replied a little stiffly.

Selina Marshall was the sort of woman who likes to be the centre of attention, and everything about her appearance screamed it. Her platinum blonde hair (bleached, of course) was set in rigid Marcel waves and her oyster silk gown, while the very latest fashion, still managed to accentuate all her curves. Her eyebrows were plucked into a pencil thin line and her mouth heavily painted. It was, overall, a look that Evy particularly disliked.

Jonathan, on the other hand, approved of it wholeheartedly and had already captured one of Selina's bejewelled hands.

'Hello, Selina!' he said effusively. 'Dashed good to see you again.'

She returned him an utterly charming, utterly phoney, smile.

'Hello Jonathan.

Her eyes, however, had already landed on Rick. She extricated her hand from Jonathan's grasp and extended it to him, taking a few steps closer.

'Hello,' she breathed. 'I don't remember seeing you at one of our little soirees before...'

'Yeah, well, that's probably because I've never been here before,' he replied flatly, briefly taking hold of the fingers she was holding out to him before letting them go again. His eyes automatically drifted back to Evelyn and he placed an arm loosely around her waist. She leaned into him, her dark eyes challenging the sultry blonde.

'Selina, this is Rick O'Connell. My fiancé.'

The bright blue eyes widened.

'Oh, _really_? How marvellous for you!' The statement was finished with a tinkling laugh that made Evelyn grit her teeth.

'Yes, isn't it?' Jonathan interjected. 'Why don't we leave the girls talking and get the drinks, hmm, O'Connell?'

'Oh yes, _do_!' Selina interjected enthusiastically, laying a hand on Rick's arm.

Jonathan had already started to amble towards the bar and looked over his shoulder, impatiently, to where his soon-to-be-brother-in-law was still being held hostage. O'Connell, reclaimed his arm and looked helplessly at Evelyn.

'I'll be straight back,' he said in answer to her pleading look, before taking off after Jonathan.

Selina linked her arm though Evelyn's. 'My dear, where _did_ you find him?'

She was tempted to reply "_In Cairo Prison, just before he was due to be hanged"_, just to see the look on Selina's face. And while she knew that Rick probably wouldn't care less who knew about that, she also knew that within an hour it would be the only thing that anyone would be talking about.

So she replied, 'Oh, just about, you know...'

Selina's eyes were still fixed on Rick's retreating form. Even amidst a sea of black jackets, he was impossible to miss. His height alone and the breadth of his shoulders marked him out from all the other men in the room. And while any woman who could get one eye open would be able to see that Rick O'Connell was a very handsome man, there was still no excuse for Selina Marshal to be looking at him as though... Well, as she had some _right_ to him.

If anyone was going to look at her fiancé like that, Evelyn decided, it would be herself and no-one else.

With that, she moved directly into Selina's line of vision and forced herself to smile. 'So, tell me what you've been up to lately.'

* * *

'Good looking girl, isn't she?'

'Gorgeous,' Rick replied wholeheartedly.

They were both leaning against the makeshift bar, waiting for the drinks to arrive and both were staring up at the balcony where Evelyn was still standing with Selina.

Jonathan looked at O'Connell suspiciously and then rolled his eyes. 'Oh for God's sake, man, I was talking about Selina.'

'Huh?' Rick tore his eyes away from Evelyn and gave the other woman a once-over. He shrugged. 'I guess she's okay.'

'You have a wonderful way with words, O'Connell.'

He turned to his companion and raised an eyebrow. 'I'm engaged to your sister, remember? What do you want me to do? Drool over everything in a skirt?'

'Er, no, I, er suppose not.'

Jonathan cleared his throat, looked hopefully down the bar and then surveyed the young soldier standing next to him.

'I say, O'Connell, you do really, er, love Evy, don't you?'

This time he had O'Connell's full attention. Blue eyes bored into him, part-wary, part-defensive.

Jonathan winced inwardly and, spotting an as yet unclaimed glass of whisky on the bar, launched himself at it and downed it in one.

'I just meant that, well, what with you two being engaged and all... Evy isn't... Well, she's never been the sort of girl who's had much to do with men and, er, well... With a chap of your type-'

'My type?' The blue eyes narrowed. 'So, what? You don't approve of me?'


	2. Jonathan

Chapter Two: Jonathan

It isn't that I don't approve of O'Connell. Not exactly.

Although, at the moment, I am starting to wish that I hadn't started to pursue this particular avenue of conversation. Mainly - but not, I hasten to add, entirely - because O'Connell is somewhat on the tall side and at the moment is eyeing me up as though he were about to squash me flat at any second. Considering he appears to have been built by the same chaps that did Stonehenge, he's fully capable of it.

I manage a smile that, I fear, is rather weaker than I intended.

And it isn't that I don't approve of him. He's quite a decent chap and I'm not just saying that because I have acquired him as a roommate. An arrangement, I may add, that I had very little choice about. After we returned from Hamunaptra, I allowed O'Connell to recover - for one night only - from his assorted injuries, in my room. And the blighter's been there ever since. I have complained loudly and frequently, but to no avail. It is, I suppose, preferable to his sleeping in Evelyn's room, but only marginally.

As I was saying, O'Connell is more intelligent than he likes to admit to and while his manners are atrocious, he has a sense of honour that he keeps to. Which is actually more than I can say for myself. My own manners can be impeccable when warranted, but when it comes to honour... Well, I usually leave _that_ to Evy.

And, speaking of my sister, we come to the crux of the current problem.

I can understand Evy developing a crush on O'Connell - he has that strong, silent quality that girls admire. Especially if said girls have a penchant for those romantic novels that get churned out by women authors. Evy thinks I don't know about her little stash of slushy prose, but then she also doesn't know that I have had, on occasion, reason to look if she's had any ready money lying about. Naturally, I have always replaced it.

But I digress.

As I say, I can understand Evy - it's O'Connell who has surprised me. It isn't that Evelyn isn't a pretty girl. She is - dashed pretty, when she can be bothered to do something with herself. But on the occasions when she has, I have always had the sudden urge to lock her in her room until she's about 40 and thoroughly spinster-fied.

But not someone who would really be O'Connell's type, I would have thought. I've bumped into the odd Legionnaire and soldier in my forays into local watering holes and - to a man - they have preferred the companionship of women of (to use that terrible cliché) easy virtue. Not that I'm casting aspersions, that's the type of girl I frequently like myself.

Evelyn is definitely not like that. She's stubborn, impossible and uses her own brand of logic that even I have trouble following. She is also, as I said earlier, a woman of honour.

And a librarian.

He's practically a mercenary.

Grown men with degrees coming out of their ears have quaked in the face of Evy's formidable intellect. Whereupon she has dismissed them with something bordering on contempt. O'Connell may stand his ground when arguing with her, mostly because he's as stubborn as she is, but he is not her academic equal.

It just shouldn't, couldn't work between them.

And yet my sister is now sporting an engagement ring, which must have cost half the gross national product of Egypt.

I look at the six-foot-odd of muscle in front of me and clear my throat.

'Look, O'Connell ... Evelyn is the only thing in my life I have actually taken any kind of responsibility for. Not that I've even done that particularly well, but...'

The man mountain is still staring at me, but at least he looks less likely to permanently remove my head from my neck.

'She's important to me. And I can't part with her to anyone who doesn't really... It isn't anything against you; I just need to be sure. For my own peace of mind.'

Silence.

'Jeez, Jonathan, you really pick your moments, y'know that?'

He shakes his head, looking at our surroundings. Admittedly, I had chosen this particular moment to embark on this just in case he took it all the wrong way and decided to thump me. I was hoping that being in the confines of an Embassy reception would suppress his more violent reactions. On reflection, it probably wouldn't make the slightest difference, but that particular danger appears to have passed.

'Look, Jonathan. Evy... Well, I...'

Intelligent he may be. Articulation, however, is something that frequently eludes him.

'I'll admit I never thought about settling down before-'

I can't stop myself snorting. 'You really think that marriage to my sister will be, in any way, settling?'

He grins at me now. I wonder if all Americans have so many teeth.

'Yeah, I'm kinda counting on that. I've ... I've never met anyone like her before.' There's a note of wonder in his voice and he's actually glancing around as though afraid of being overheard. 'She ... she means the world to me, Jonathan. I'll take good care of her. Well, if she lets me.' There's a bit of throat clearing and foot-shuffling going on and I can't help but remember when he gave her the toolkit. It's the same combination of self-consciousness and sincerity.

'I really do, y'know, love her.'

I remember once, at a zoo, seeing a male wolf that had recently lost its mate. The poor chap had been wandering around his cage as though still looking for her, slowly giving up the will to live over her loss. The look in O'Connell's eyes when Evy was taken by Imhotep reminded me of that wolf and it's a memory that comes back to me now. That, really, should have told me all I needed to know concerning those two.

It's my turn to clear my throat.

'Steady on, O'Connell, no need to gush.'

'But you...' He stares at me and then laughs. Shakes his head. 'C'mon, let's get these drinks and rescue Evy from the spider woman.'

'Who?'

He flashes more of those American teeth at me and claps a hand on my shoulder that nearly drives me through the floor.

'Y'know, Jon, _I_ may need to learn a lot about nice girls, but _you_ need to learn a lot about women.'

I resent that.


	3. Who was that man I saw you with?

Chapter Three: Who Was That Man I Saw You With?

'Evelyn! I don't believe you're listening to a word I'm saying.'

Petulant was the word to best describe Selina's demeanour at present, Evelyn felt. But while petulant may be vaguely attractive on a pretty girl of sixteen, it palled on a woman who had been owning to twenty-five for about the past six years.

'I'm sorry, Selina, I'm just...' She waved a hand airily, narrowly missing a waiter bearing a large tray of drinks. He glared at her balefully, muttering under his breath.

'I haven't been to one of these for a while, ' she continued, oblivious. 'It's a little ... overwhelming.'

_'Rather like your perfume,'_ she added mentally.

'Oh, of course it is. Still, it is nice to see that you've finally done something with your hair - just because you are a librarian, it doesn't mean you have to look like one.'

Evelyn narrowed her eyes slightly. 'Selina, I happen to be very proud of what I am.'

She smiled slightly: a vague recollection, touching the edges of her memory, of a night under the stars that Rick took every opportunity to tease her about. Despite his repeated assertions to the contrary, Evelyn still maintained that she had not been intoxicated. At least, not very. Exhaustion, lack of proper food and the aftershock of the attack on their camp had been the main contributors to her loss of consciousness. Her little reverie was broken by Selina plucking at her arm.

'I've been looking forward to this! There's someone who is simply _dying_ to say hello to you!'

Selina beamed proudly, gesturing towards a young man who had appeared a few steps from them. He smiled in Selina's direction, but his eyes were fixed on Evelyn.

She returned his gaze blankly for a moment before comprehension, swift and sudden, dawned.

'David!'

Her surprise faded. Of course there was no reason why he shouldn't be there - he had always talked about coming to Egypt. They had both talked about it.

He was fiddling nervously with a cufflink, but beamed at her. 'Hello, Evelyn! It's so good to see you again, it really is! I couldn't believe my luck when I heard you were in Cairo. Been on a dig near Luxor.'

He took a few steps forward and Evelyn stiffened, unnerved by the thought that he may try to embrace her. Whether that had been his original intention or not, he hesitated in front of her and then took hold of her hand awkwardly.

'Well, you two probably have so much to catch up on.' Selina smiled at them benevolently. 'I'll leave you two alone, shall I?'

'Oh no, Selina, there's no need-'

'But I still want to hear all of your gossip, Evelyn,' Selina continued blithely, already walking away from them. 'Do make sure you find me before you leave!'

Evelyn gazed after her helplessly - Selina's company was infinitely preferable to the torture of being left alone with David Barton.

It wasn't there was anything particularly awful or intimidating about him, but Evelyn simply felt extremely uncomfortable in his company. They had both been at Oxford and Evelyn had admired her quiet, hardworking fellow student. They had become close and, yes, well, she had allowed him to kiss her. One night, after the Spring Ball, with the heady scent of early roses in the cool air, he had kissed her. A relatively pleasant, yet oddly unmoving experience.

Not the way Rick kissed her.

They had talked about travelling to Egypt, about excavating - the unspoken implication being that they would go together.

When Jonathan had visited her, unexpectedly, one weekend, he had informed Evelyn that he neither liked nor trusted David Barton. As Jonathan had never been the most trustworthy man alive, she may have been tempted to ignore his opinion. However, perhaps as a result of his own dissolution, Jonathan had an unerring instinct for what he termed 'bad eggs'. And, if Evelyn were entirely honest with herself, there was something indefinable about David that was unsettling. After graduation, they had lost touch - mainly because Evelyn successfully managed to avoid him. She had not given him another thought, until now.

His eyes, she realised, had focused on her engagement ring and he was staring at it with a strange intensity. Evelyn cleared her throat and his gaze moved back to her face. She longed for a convenient excuse to walk away, but, unable to think of one, she forced herself to smile. Perhaps, after all, she owed it to him to be civil for a few minutes.

'So, David, how have you been?'

* * *

On the other side of the ballroom, Rick was having an equally bad time of it, but for different reasons. Evelyn had seemingly vanished into the throng and Jonathan, brandishing his Champagne bottle like an offensive weapon, had wandered off in search of Selina.

Or any other vapid blonde who would give him the time of day.

Rick, however, had been hijacked by someone he vaguely knew from the Fort and was trapped between a pillar, a palm tree and a group of semi-inebriated semi-aristocrats. Their conversation washed over him, but the odd phrases still filtered through.

'Eclipse ... dashed odd business ... Locusts as big as a cat, old boy! ... Walking about like zombies, the lot of 'em...'

He didn't contribute to the assortment of increasingly bizarre theories they offered as explanations for what had happened in Cairo, only a few weeks ago. The truth was far more bizarre and they seemed far happier in hearing their own braying voices than the truth.

The stiff winged collar was driving him crazy. His head was forced into an unnatural and, he felt, unnecessary position. His current garbing in formal evening attire had been overseen by Jonathan and he had only gone along with it to please Evelyn. The collar and tie, however, were slowly choking him, bringing back unpleasant memories of Cairo Prison. Although, at that particular moment, Rick O'Connell felt that another visit to the scaffold was preferable to his present situation. He inserted a finger under the collar, pulling at it until he was able to take a proper breath, when a few words caught his attention.

'... crashed the damn thing, I'm sure.'

'What was that?'

A face, bloated with alcohol, heat and assorted vices turned to him.

'Winston. You knew him, didn't you? Was just saying - heard he took that bloody crate of his up and vanished.'

'Drunk, probably,' another of them put in.

Rick felt a sharp jolt of white-hot anger. He had frequently tried to avoid Winston, but he had had more time for the old pilot than most. Possibly because, despite their enormous differences in age, background and everything else, they'd had one thing in common. They had both seen all their friends and colleagues die around them and yet, somehow, they had survived. The only difference being that Rick was eternally grateful his life had been spared.

He remembered the faint smile on the dead man's lips when his plane had been sucked into the sand; and while it may have been the end that Winston would have wanted, Rick was still haunted by the image. There was nothing in that desert to even mark the spot of his grave.

Despite the long, rambling stories that no-one had really listened to, the eager consumption of alcohol and his lady-friends of dubious reputation, Winston had been a brave man. He had helped them: not because he had any reason to, or because he had to, but just because they had asked.

'He was a good man.'

'Sorry, old boy, didn't quite hear...'

'I said, he was a good man,' Rick repeated loudly.

They stared at him, slack-jawed. One of them - who apparently went by the name of "Pongo" emitted a high-pitched, braying laugh.

'He was a drunk.'

Pongo had a long, chinless face that was highly reminiscent of a camel (which is probably an insult to camels everywhere). Rick had a longing to pummel it for quite a long time.

'Yeah, maybe he was. But y'know what? Maybe he had a right to be. Maybe he had a right for someone to listen to him once in a while.'

'What, for how he won the war single-handed?'

Another small group of partygoers had started to edge away nervously. Their eyes fixed on the sight of the spindly, obviously inebriated Englishman squaring up to the American with the blazing eyes. It would have been comical, except for the palpable hostility between the two men.

'He'd actually done something in his life. Maybe he told the same stories over and over again because that was all he had left. But he still had enough courage and decency to put his life on the line to save someone else. What the hell have _you_ done lately?'

Faces blurred before his eyes. He felt a vague satisfaction when his shoulder bumped violently against the offending Pongo and heard the Englishman give a load grunt. People moved hastily out of his way, but he barely noticed them.

Sand and blood. Flies settling on corpses lying under the scorching African sun. A noose tightening around his own neck.

Not a noose, he told himself, just the stupid tie he had been forced into. His skin was burning, but he felt himself shivering with cold.

He needed some air and a drink, not necessarily in that order.

He also needed to find Evelyn and, hopefully, persuade her that they had spent enough time in these civilised surroundings.

* * *

Evelyn wasn't certain how they had ended up on the balcony. The night air held a hint of coolness and it felt wonderful after the stultifying heat of the reception rooms. David was talking on and she made occasional, polite noises at what appeared to be the requisite moments, but she wasn't really listening. She wished that Jonathan or Rick, or even Selina, would come and retrieve her.

Rick and Selina.

A cold knot settled in the pit of her stomach.

Rick loved her, she knew that. He wouldn't have asked her to marry him if he didn't. They had fallen in love under the most trying circumstances, in the middle of the desert and Rick certainly had not had another girl on hand to compare her to at the time. But now, surrounded by so many beautiful, glamorous women - some of whom had reputations as adventurers... What if he suddenly realised that she, Evelyn Carnahan, wasn't the right girl for him? What if he realised that he needed, or wanted, someone with more ... experience ... of the world? Someone more like himself. She remembered the way Selina's eyes had lit up when she had seen the handsome American and had a sudden, horrible vision of Selina and Rick riding off into the sunset together.

The rational side of her began a long chastisement of these ridiculous thoughts. However, she was determined to find her fiancé and rescue him from any amorous clutches he may have fallen into during her absence.

A movement close to her face brought her back to reality. David's hand was resting over hers, his face so close that she could feel his breath on her cheek. 'It's you, Evelyn, It's always been you...' his voice was hoarse. In the moonlight, his eyes glinted weirdly.

She recoiled slightly, but he had grabbed hold of her shoulders, pulling her towards him. Evelyn raised her hands to push him away, looking him determinedly in the eye...

'What the hell's going on?'

Barton released her hastily, stepping back as six-foot-odd of angry American approached. Evelyn felt a rush of relief.

'I wasn't... I'm sorry.' Barton didn't wait for the impending attack, but made his escape back into the reception rooms, via the French window.

Evelyn took a few steps closer to Rick - she could see the tension in his stance and his blue yes, usually so expressive, were unreadable. His face looked strained and unnaturally pale in the silver light.

'He kissed you.'

'No! He tried to, but-'

'But you didn't exactly fight him off.'

She stared at him, not quite able to believe what she was hearing.

'He grabbed hold of me, Rick! I didn't have time to - You _saw_ him!'

He shook his head. 'I've had about as much of this as I can take. I'm getting the hell outta here - you can come with me or stay here. I don't care.'

She looked tiny standing there. Her lovely face, turned upwards to him, was full of confusion and hurt and anger. He was behaving like an idiot and he knew it. Yet, somehow, he didn't seem able to stop himself. The anger he had been holding in - at the people with too much money and too little sense who though they were better than everyone else, at the man who had dared touch Evelyn and at himself for hurting her now - had found a convenient and undeserving recipient. Memories of past horrors were still crashing into his mind until he felt delirious under the onslaught. It was as though a terrible fever was running through his body. On nights like this, he would usually go out, find a bar and drink steadily until the alcohol obliterated all thoughts. It had been a night like that, which had led to his brief stay in Cairo Prison. And Evelyn. She was probably the only person who could cure the fever within him, but how could he put into words the things he didn't even want to think about? The years of being on his own had taught him to develop a thick skin, to bury his feelings and to look after other people when necessary. A few months with Evelyn threatened to undo all of that; and he wasn't certain that either of them were prepared for the possibility that he might, for the first time in his life, need to be taken care of. He turned away, and heard her footsteps following him a few seconds later. Rick cursed himself inwardly and turned to face her.

'We'd better find Jonathan,' she informed him, icily. 'He's got the car keys.'

She held her head high, sweeping past him the way she had when he had been her guide and she had been his employer.

He gritted his teeth and followed.

* * *

They found Jonathan sitting on the last step of the staircase, apparently in conversation with his now-empty Champagne bottle. He looked up at them and smiled amiably.

'There is nothing like a good night out. And this,' he informed them sadly, 'is nothing like a good night out. Damn boring party, isn't it?'

'We're leaving,' Rick stated.

Jonathan brightened noticeably. 'Ah! Going on somewhere else, are we?'

Rick breathed heavily down his nose. 'You, get up. You,' he turned to Evelyn, 'come on.'

'Don't think you can start ordering me around as though I were-'

'Look, you can stay here if you want. I'm leaving.'

He started up the stairs.

Jonathan - leaning heavily against the bannister - looked, bemusedly, from his sister to O'Connell and back again. An expression of sympathetic understanding crept into his face and he put an arm around Evy's shoulders, drawing her closer to him.

'Cheer up, old mum, it'll blow over - whatever it is.'

'David Barton's here,' she said softly.

Jonathan mused over the name for a moment. 'Oh... Oh! Never did like that chap. What the devil's he doing here? Making a nuisance of himself, was he?'

'Something like that.'

'Get O'Connell to hit him. Or I could hit him.' He took another look at his sister's expression. Typical bloody O'Connell - trust him to put two and two together and come up with something completely erroneous. 'Or maybe I should hit O'Connell? Although, if I had a choice between hitting David Barton and hitting O'Connell, I'd rather hit Barton. After all, I do know my limitations...'

Evelyn giggled, in spite of herself. 'Idiot.'

Jonathan started up the staircase, taking Evelyn with him. He still had his arm firmly around her, although how much was simply to support his own slightly unsteady step was anyone's guess.

'By tomorrow, you two will be sickeningly happy again. And if not, I really _will_ hit him.' He paused. 'Or I could _pay_ someone to hit him...'

Evelyn rolled her eyes. 'Come on, you. Up the stairs.'

'You know, I don't know what you're worried about, Evy - you're sounding more like O'Connell every day. Ow! There was no need for that...'


	4. And you shall take me strongly in your a...

Author's Note: Thank you to every one who has taken the time and trouble to read this thing and then review it! You are saintly and I love you for it. Should anyone wish to add any comments/criticisms beyond the regular FanFiction reviews, I am available at 

So, on to the next part!

Chapter Four: And You Shall Take Me Strongly In Your Arms

_And you shall take me strongly _

_In your arms again_

_And I will not remember_

_That I ever felt the pain_

- Van Morrison, _Sweet Thing_

The drive home was less than pleasant.

Neither Rick nor Evelyn uttered a word between the Embassy and the hotel. Jonathan, in an effort to fill the silence, kept up a steady stream of small talk. His inane prattle had the unfortunate side-effect of making both his companions want to strangle him. A unifying experience, but not quite in the way that anyone - least of Jonathan - would have wished. By the time they arrived at the hotel, Jonathan had run out of conversation and was escorted up the stairs, none too gently, by Rick. Evelyn watched for a moment as Rick attempted to open the door to their room and keep Jonathan upright at the same time. Any thoughts she may have had about helping him were dismissed and she swept down the hall to her own suite.

She closed her door behind her and then leaned against it, indulging in the luxury of feeling deeply sorry for herself.

'Bloody men,' she thought and stomped across the room. 'Typical. I didn't do anything wrong, but just blame the woman for everything! And Rick, of all people...'

Evelyn kicked the foot of the sofa and let out a little yelp. Her feet were already in agony due to her new and extremely constricting shoes - nearly breaking her toes into the bargain did nothing to improve the pain nor her temper.

A peremptory knock sounded on her door.

She already knew which of the two men in her life it would be. Hopefully, he was about to apologise profusely.

'Come in,' she called, trying to sound as though it made no difference to her whether he came in or not.

Rick entered, closing the door and hovering near it.

'I just wanted to make sure you're okay,' he announced stiffly.

'I'm fine,' she replied, attempting to maintain as much dignity as possible. 'Where's Jonathan?'

Rick grimaced. 'Passed out on his bed.'

'Oh.' Evelyn stepped around the sofa, intending to arrange herself haughtily - but alluringly - on it. The effect was marred somewhat when she couldn't stop herself from wincing at the pain in her feet.

'What's wrong?' His concern was immediate.

'Nothing. I'm fine.' She sat down heavily, gingerly raising one foot and starting to ease a shoe off.

Rick watched her for a moment and then silently crossed the room, dropping to one knee beside her.

'C'mere. Let me have a look.'

He ignored her half-hearted protests and took one small foot in his hands. For a man who could send someone halfway across a room with one punch, he was capable of enormous gentleness when necessary. Evelyn's shoe was removed painlessly and deposited on the floor.

'You've got some blisters.'

'I could have told you that.'

He looked up at her, drawing his breath in softly.

'Fine.'

He dropped her foot and stood up, marching across the room.

Evelyn felt a pain rise in her chest and a familiar pressure behind her eyes. She blinked furiously. She was not going to cry and she was certainly not going to call him back. He could just go, and if he never came back, that was fine.

'Rick!'

He turned back.

Misery and anger warred for domination in her expression. Misery won. 'I hate this.' Her voice was thick and she cleared her throat. 'I didn't do anything wrong, Rick. He's just someone I used to know, back in Oxford. I wasn't even listening to what he was saying and the next thing I knew he was right there, grabbing at me. And then you came in.' After everything they had been through, how could he think that she would hurt him like that? If he had so little faith in her, what hope was there for them? He stood before her, not quite meeting her eyes. 'I don't go around kissing strange men. Especially when I'm engaged to - to a man I'm in love with. I wouldn't have let him do anything to me.'

'I know that.' He dropped onto the sofa and stared moodily at a spot on the floor. The winged collar had been undone and his tie now hung loose. He actually looked even better now, slightly dishevelled, she thought, than he had earlier. Without looking at her, he stooped, raised both of her feet into his lap and started to remove her other shoe. His strong fingers started to work over the tender spots on her aching feet. 'I know you wouldn't...'

'Well if you knew that,' she said trying to sound indignant, but failing under the sensation of the delicious pressure on her aching feet, ' then why on earth have you been making us both miserable for the past hour?'

'Because I-' He sighed, burning blues eyes suddenly turning to her. 'Dammit, Evelyn, I'm no good at this! I just... You're the most amazing thing that's happened to me. Ever. I never used to care that my life was going nowhere, but then I met you and all that changed. I tried to pretend I was a better person and hoped it would take. I wanted to be ... worthy, I guess, of the way you looked at me. And now... Half of me is afraid that one morning you'll wake up and realise you're too good for me. And I wouldn't blame you.'

He dropped his head again, unruly hair falling across his eyes. 'I already know you're too good for me. But I'm crazy about you, Evy.'

Evelyn became aware that her heart was beating a very unusual rhythm in her chest.

'I ... I thought you'd like Selina,' said suddenly.

Rick looked back up at her, puzzled.

'She's very... Well, a lot of men find her very attractive.'

'Yeah, well, she's a-' he stopped himself abruptly, trying to think of a more polite word than the one he'd been thinking of.

'Man-eater?' Evy offered.

'Yeah, I guess that kinda covers it. Why would you think that I'd...' His eyes widened, part disbelief, part amusement 'You were jealous? Of her?'

'I was not jealous!' she answered, a little too loudly. 'But ... she has ... sex appeal. And I'm...'

'Evelyn, listen to me. Selina is the kind of girl - well, she 'd go with any guy, and I mean any guy, as long as she thought she'd get something out of it. Why the hell would I want that when I've got you? I, er, have still got you, haven't I?'

She gave him one of those slow, slightly crooked smiles that made the rest of the world fall away. 'Of course you do. As long as I still have you.'

He grinned at her, unable to stop himself. 'Baby, you can have me anytime you want.'

'How about now?' she thought. Over the course of their conversation, his hands had slowly moved further up and were now massaging her ankles, occasionally straying to her lower calves. The hammering in her chest had now been replaced by a different, thrumming sensation. It was slowly spreading through her body and any thoughts about the inappropriateness of having a man in her room at this hour of night were evaporating.

Rick watched her, mesmerised. A few stray curls had worked themselves loose from their pins and fluttered around her face. Her eyes drifted closed momentarily and she made a low noise at the back of her throat when his thumbs hit a particularly sensitive spot. She shifted languorously on the sofa, her tongue darting to out to wet her lower lip before her eyes, dark and smoky, met his again. He swallowed hard. Whoever had given her the impression that she lacked sex appeal needed their head examined, Then again, if anyone looked at her with the thoughts he was having right now, he'd have to kill them.

'I really do hate it when we fight,' she said softly.

'Yeah.' He sounded a little unsteady. 'But we can have a lot of fun apologising to each other.'

'Apol-?' She didn't finish the word before she had been pulled towards him and found herself enveloped in his arms. His mouth captured hers and he kissed her, thoroughly. Evelyn wrapped her arms around his neck, settling herself closer against him.

There was nothing chaste in that kiss. Nothing decorous about the hand that slid up her thigh, the fingers running along the top of her stocking.

'Isn't this the part where you tell me I have to go back to my own room?' His voice sounded hoarse, his lips only millimetres from hers.

She gazed at him dazedly, her face flushed. 'No. Yes. I...'

Evelyn disengaged herself from him, somehow managing to stand up. 'I should get changed. Yes. I'll get changed, in there.' She pointed vaguely, in the direction of her bedroom and started toward it.

His face registered disappointment and frustration.

'Right. I guess I'll say goodnight.'

'No!'

Rick turned back eagerly and grinned when he saw her blushing.

She lowered her eyes from his, biting her lower lip.

'Talk to me while I'm changing.'

'Er... Ok-ay.' He followed her into her bedroom, trying to force his thoughts onto something that was not, in anyway, indecent. 'What do you want to talk about?'

Evelyn disappeared behind a large screen, which stood in one corner of the room. 'Tell me something.'

He thought for a moment.

'What?'

A sigh of exasperation escaped from behind the screen. 'Anything. Tell me... What do want more than anything else in the world?'

'For that damn screen to become invisible,' he thought, remembering the way her wet night-gown had clung to her after her immersion in the Nile. A stocking suddenly appeared over the screen; a moment later its partner was draped next to it.

'Rick?' Her voice was accompanied by the soft rustlings of clothes dropping to the floor. 'Are you still there?'

'Yeah.' His own voice sounded peculiarly strangled.

'Well?'

He dragged his eyes away from the items that were appearing next to her stockings and tried to force his thoughts onto any subject that did not include a naked Evelyn.

'A house,' he said suddenly.

'Pardon?'

'I said a house. I'd like a house.'

More rustling. He kept his eyes resolutely on a pile of books.

'Why a house?'

He shrugged. 'Dunno, really. Guess I'd like somewhere that's mine that I could actually call home. Somewhere we could go back to after you've woken up every other mummy in Egypt...'

'Ooh!'

'...A big house, with a garden. No, not a garden...' He was warming to his theme now, conjuring up his fictitious home in his mind's eye. 'A house with grounds. Yeah, that's it.'

Evelyn laughed slightly. 'Grounds? That's not a house, Rick, that's a stately home.'

'Why not? I never had a house before. May as well get a proper one. Anyway, it'd have to be big enough for Jonathan to have his own wing. That way it would almost be like he's not actually there,' the last part was muttered under his breath.

There was silence.

'You - you want Jonathan to live with us?'

'Not so much want, as assumed he would be. I mean, you two are pretty much inseparable, right? I'm not gonna get you without Jonathan being there. Two Carnahans for the price of one. In some parts of the world, that could be considered a deal. Not necessarily a good deal, but still a deal.'

Light footsteps told him that Evelyn had emerged and he turned to her. He caught his breath slightly, staring with undisguised admiration at the slip of black silk that hugged her curves.

Evelyn, in return, was gazing at him, amazed.

'That's really what you want?' she asked softly.

'Hell yeah.'

'I didn't mean that,' she replied, experiencing a twinge of pleasure at the effect her appearance had on her fiancé. 'I meant, what you said just now - you really want that?'

He dragged his eyes up to hers, taking a moment to recall exactly what it was he had been talking about.

'Oh that. Well, yeah, I meant it.'

She smiled slowly - that sultry, slightly crooked smile of hers - and beckoned to him, her eyes glowing. Rick didn't need asking twice and closed the distance between them in two strides.

Her hair was loose around her shoulders, a silky curtain playing against his face. He kissed her hungrily, enjoying the feeling of her skin and black silk under his hands. It was so tempting, would be so easy, just to slip the straps down her shoulders, he thought.

Evelyn pulled away from him slightly, her eyes smoky and heavy lidded. 'Rick...'

She yawned suddenly - and loudly - and gazed at him guiltily, one hand pressed over her mouth.

Rick laughed. 'Okay, tough stuff, time to call it a night.'

He scooped her up in his arms before she could say anything else. It was becoming a familiar sensation, carrying her like this.

'Just don't think you're getting this service every night.'

She quirked an eyebrow at him sleepily. 'Oh yeah?'

He grinned at her dreadful approximation of his accent. 'Yeah.'

'We'll see about that,' she murmured as he deposited her on the bed.

He watched her arrange herself under the covers, longing to slide in next to her. But the thought of lying with Evelyn in his arms and not actually...

He didn't fool himself that his self-control was that strong.

'Aren't you going to kiss me goodnight?'

She was doing it deliberately now, he was certain of it. Her smile was inviting, but the sheets were pulled up chastely, almost to her chin.

He bent down, capturing her mouth. It was not, he thought smugly, a kiss she would forget in a hurry. Evelyn let out a little moan of frustration as he pulled away.

He was almost out of the door before her voice followed him. Low and sensual.

'Good night, Darling.'

Rick congratulated himself that he managed to sound nonchalant (almost) when he answered, 'Night, Evy.'

He could have sworn he heard her laughing softly as he closed the door.

Down the hall, he was greeted with a far less appealing spectacle in his own room. Rick entered and glared at the recumbent form of his roommate.

Jonathan was sleeping the sleep of the not-so-just. His lusty snores were punctuated by loud, incoherent exhortations to some invisible person.

Rick briefly considered throwing something at his head.

Upon reflection, however, he decided that no good could come of such an action and so peeled off the rest of his evening clothes and flung himself onto his bed.

Evelyn.

Trouble, he was quite sure, had never come with a more beguiling face. He thought back over the assorted near-fatal incidents he had survived in the course of his career and groaned. No matter what else he had escaped from intact, he thought wryly, Evelyn Carnahan would probably be the death of him before they even made it down the aisle.


	5. Rick

Author's Note: Once again – thank you to everyone who read n' reviewed! I'm glad you all had as much fun reading Chapter 4 as I had writing it. There will, probably, be a brief hiatus after this update, as I need to work on my thesis (ugh!). But depending on how much work I can get done, I should be able to start posting again reasonably soon.

Now, down to business. You can hold off the APB, Nakhti – now that the groundwork has been done, the plot actually starts here!

Chapter Five: Rick

I don't get the whole brother-sister thing.

Probably because I have never actually had a brother or sister.

I guess the closest I ever had to anything like that was when I was in the orphanage in Cairo, where I had two best friends: Mahmoud, who had an even greater knack for getting into trouble than me (which was something I admired at the time) and Naima. Big brown eyes and long skinny legs. She used to patch my clothes for me when I ripped them, and I made sure that no one gave her any trouble. We were a gang of three, roaming the back streets of Cairo and occasionally picking fights with gangs of actual street kids.

We also developed a nice line in small-time scams on well-meaning tourists and picking the odd pocket. I'm not quite sure what it was we thought we would do with the money we scraped together. I think we had a kind of fantasy that when we got out of the orphanage, we'd stay together - get a house or something. We'd look out for each other and back each other up when one of us got into trouble with the nuns who ran the place.

As we were always in trouble, either individually or collectively, we backed each other up a lot.

So, that's the way it was and we thought that that's how it would always be.

Until the Reverend and Mrs Peterson of Indiana decided to do their Christian duty and remove the only white kid in the orphanage and take him back to the States. I guess they were good people (unlike Jonathan, they actually _were_ missionaries), but they took me on because they felt they had to, not because they wanted to. And they never let me forget it.

Let's just say that the three of us didn't get on and leave it at that. They probably felt relieved when I left for good - they could tell themselves and everyone else that they had done the best they could for me, but I was just a bad lot.

I made my way back to Egypt, which was the only place I felt at home and the only place I really understood. And I did try to find Naima and Mahmoud. I went back to the orphanage, but they had left and no one knew what had happened to them.

Mahmoud would be fine - that kid could have been thrown into the Nile with lead weights on his ankles, but still bob back up to the surface with a big grin on his face. As for Naima...

Well, there are only so many options open to an Egyptian girl with no money and no family. None of them are pretty. I kinda hope that they're still together, looking out for each other. Maybe they even got that house, who knows?

But, as I said, that's the closest I ever got. So I don't entirely get the brother-sister thing. Okay, more specifically, I don't get the Jonathan-Evelyn thing.

They are nothing alike. Apart from the fact that they can both be the biggest pains in the ass I have ever met in my life, they don't have much in common. You would have thought that they wouldn't spend anymore time together than they have to, but they came to Egypt together and they actually share a flat in London. (That is a truly terrifying thought.)

The thing is, they really love each other. Evelyn complains about her brother, but she would do anything for him.

And watching Jonathan demanding to know how I feel about his baby sister was one of the funniest things I've ever seen - he turned a weird shade of green at one point. But he's not the bravest man on the planet and I'm a damn sight bigger than him, so it shows you how _he_ feels about Evelyn that he'd actually take me on. Although, I suspect that if he really _had_ wanted to take me on, he would have hired someone a bit more me-sized to do it for him.

So I know he loves her - but then he'll say or do something (like wanting to swap her for four camels) that makes me wonder just what the hell goes on with those two.

Which is what I wondered when I asked him if he'd seen Evy.

His response was, 'Bloody hell, O'Connell!' And then clutched his chest dramatically. Okay, admittedly, I had walked into our room without knocking, but there is no need for that reaction. I think he was asleep. I don't know how anyone can sleep as much as he does.

I asked him again and he rolled his eyes at me.

'She's not with you? Good God. Just when I was starting to think that you two were permanently joined at the lips - sorry, hip.'

Oh yeah, he's a funny guy. I glared back at him, but he didn't seem to notice.

'It's nearly seven, Jonathan, and she's still not back. She's not usually this late.'

Jonathan snorted. 'You've got a lot to learn about my sister, old boy. She's quite capable of sleeping in that Museum when she's got her mind on a task. To be honest, she's probably still trying to clear up after that little accident she had.'

I've heard about that 'little accident'. If I didn't know Evy as well as I do now, I would have said that what happened was impossible. But this is the girl who can cause a ten car pile-up just by crossing the road.

Anyhow, she has been trying to put everything back - I think she feels like she owes it to the curator - the late curator, I should say - to get it done before his successor arrives. But, being Evelyn, she won't let anyone else help her, so it's taking her three times as long. I have tried to help her, but the last time I offered, it ended up with her throwing a book at my head. Do I need to tell you that she missed and broke a window instead? Nah, didn't think so.

Jonathan smothered a yawn (for someone who sleeps so much, he's tired a lot. Go figure) and then sniggered. 'Actually, knowing Evy, she's probably knocked over another stack and is trapped under it, waiting for someone to get her out. Maybe you should run off and rescue her!'

I couldn't believe he said that. He was actually quite amused by it. And there it is again - the stuff I just don't get. I would have though that you got out of thinking it's funny that your sister might be hurt by about age ten. But what do I know?

Of course, once he'd said that, I could see the whole thing happening. Those stacks are damn heavy; and Evy is quite capable of getting herself...

'I need to borrow your car.'

That got his attention. Not concern that something might have happened to Evy, oh no, but the idea that I might actually drive his car, unsupervised.

Which is why I am in the passenger seat and Jonathan is driving us to the Museum. If he could go any slower, I'd be amazed.

He also hasn't shut up since we set off. Now, any other time, I would probably enjoy hearing about every dumb thing Evelyn has done since she was two, but right now I keep having this image of her, hurt and needing me.

If Jonathan says one more word, I swear there might be two Carnahans needing to be hospitalised tonight.

But I've just noticed that he's gripping the steering wheel really tight, so maybe he's more worried than I thought.

I'm starting to think that if I live to be a hundred, I will never get those two.


	6. Dismantle the Sun

Chapter Six: Dismantle the Sun

'Jonathan, can you make this thing go any faster?'

'Just because I choose not to apply my foot to the accelerator like a sledgehammer-'

A low growl came from the man in the passenger seat.

'Yes, right, speeding up now. See?'

The increase in speed did not earn Jonathan any approbation, but merely another glare and a muttered, 'About damn time.'

The journey had been tense from the beginning - Jonathan's car needed a great deal of coaxing before it would actually start and by the time they finally pulled away, Rick's nerves were reaching breaking point.

Night falls quickly in Africa: unlike England, there is no long period of twilight. Once the magnificent sunset has faded, darkness claims the land and sky. By the time Jonathan and Rick reached the Museum, a moody, ruddy glow on the horizon was all that was left of the setting sun.

The Museum itself was in darkness; only one window emitted a faint light.

'See?' Jonathan said cheerfully. 'Evy's just working late. Nothing at all to worry about.' He slid down in his seat, pulling his hat over his eyes. 'I'll wait here while you go and get her. Only, just a word of advice, old man: try not to drag her out by the hair. Girls don't really go for that anymore.'

Rick slammed the car door and leaned across it. 'Get out of the car.'

'Yes, right, of course.'

The street was deserted. Rick glanced around cautiously. There was nothing unusual, nothing that seemed out of place, but he just couldn't shake the sense of foreboding.

'This door should be locked.'

Jonathan rolled his eyes. 'It's a museum - it is open to the public, you know.'

'At this time of night?'

'Paranoia isn't your most appealing quality, O'Connell. Evy's not going to lock up when she's still in here.'

He chose to ignore Jonathan's comments and moved silently through the massive entrance hall: his footsteps falling silently on the stone floor, his keen eyes piercing the gloom.

Jonathan was less silent. His voice was reduced to a whisper, but he still maintained his trademark stream of chatter. It was, Rick had concluded on their first adventure, a habit acquired merely to conceal his nerves.

He suddenly flattened himself against the wall and drew out his gun, the click of the safety catch sounding preternaturally loud in the heavy silence.

'Oh I say, O'Connell, there's no need to shoot the girl just because she's lost track...' His words died away as he noticed the thing that had attracted Rick's attention.

A dark, motionless shape lay huddled on the floor.

Jonathan felt his chest painfully constrict painfully and there was a distinct roaring in his ears. O'Connell had his gun raised, ready for action; his hands, Jonathan noticed, were enviably steady. His soldier's training kicking in, no doubt.

They approached the prostrate figure, O'Connell nudging it with the toe of his boot so that it rolled onto its back, the light illuminating its face.

'Bob,' Jonathan murmured with a sigh of relief. 'Er, is he..?'

O'Connell crouched beside the body, dexterous fingers pressing against Bob's neck.

'He's just knocked out.'

The discovery of Bob's inert form seemed to break the tension of O'Connell's self-control: he sprang up, calling for Evelyn, his voice echoing in the cavernous spaces of the exhibition rooms.

Jonathan plunged after him, cursing under his breath. They reached the library stacks, a dull glow emanating from one of the gloomy rows telling them where Evelyn had been working. They advanced cautiously. Piles of books, all neatly stacked and classified, were usually dotted around the room, waiting to be placed on the shelves.

Most of these books were now strewn across the floor and the lamp was on its side, the low light casting weird shadows and illuminating a few dark, red droplets.

'Oh..._oh no!' _Jonathan willed himself to look away, but couldn't. Images of what could have happened playing themselves across his vision in lurid colour.

For the first time, Rick's hand - still grasping his gun - started to shake.

* * *

The man watched as Evelyn's inert form was deposited onto the bed. Under other circumstances, he may have been considered good-looking: his blonde hair was darkened to a rich honey shade by the pomade he wore and his eyes gleamed green in his tanned face. But the look of triumph, the light of the fanatic in those green eyes, marred his features.

'Was it really necessary to hit her?' he enquired casually, observing the bruise that was flowering across Evelyn's cheekbone.

The Egyptian who had been carrying her straightened up with a grunt. 'I had to.' He gestured to a gash across his own temple. 'She fought back. Effendi,' he added as an afterthought.

His employer, however, seemed quite happy with the term of deference, no matter how grudgingly expressed. He looked down at the unconscious girl: her heavy breathing betrayed the fact that her slumber was drug induced. A few unruly curls, loosened during her struggle, were clinging to her face.

'I wouldn't have thought Evelyn would be the type to put up a fight. She must have changed, over the years.'

His companion cast a venomous look at Evelyn and muttered under his breath. Almost being bested by a woman - and a small English one, at that - was more than just a blow to his pride. It was the only the presence of the white man that prevented him from exacting a grim revenge.

'There is still work to be done, Ahmed. You know what to do.'

'Yes, effendi.'

'Good, We'll leave the lady to her rest, eh?'

The two men withdrew, locking the heavy door on Evelyn and her dreamless sleep.

* * *

'We should call the police,' Jonathan stated. He was impressed by how steady his own voice sounded.

O'Connell paused in his task of checking one of his many guns and looked up at him. 'And what, exactly, do you think that would accomplish? The Egyptian authorities aren't going to be too concerned about the disappearance of an English girl.' His calm was maddening. Or it would have been, had his eyes not been burning so furiously. 'We'll get her back.'

Jonathan remembered the last time he heard those words - right after Imhotep had taken Evelyn. Then, O'Connell had been like a force of nature: merciless, relentless, unstoppable. In the midst of the current cataclysm, it was oddly comforting to have him on the same side.

Rick resumed his task, not so much because his weaponry needed checking - he always kept it in good condition - but because it provided a focus; something to do with his hands while he tried to figure out what to do next. Something to keep him from strangling the next person he met, whether they were involved in Evelyn's kidnapping or not.

Jonathan paced the room. 'But why take her? Who? Unless... Oh God, it couldn't be old Mummy-Curse-Boy, could it? Could it?'

Nah,' Rick didn't bother to meet Jonathan's horror stricken gaze. 'He's dead. Trust me.' He slid the clip into position emphatically. 'Soul ripped out, fatal stabbing, body sucked into a big ol' vat of black goo. You don't get much deader than him, believe me.'

'Oh well, that's comforting.'

Rick froze momentarily. Sometimes they sounded so alike...

Jonathan rubbed a hand over his face. 'What time is it?' The strain of the last few hours was starting to show - the circles under his eyes were almost black, giving his cheerful face an uncharacteristically hangdog expression.

'A little after four. You should try to get some sleep,' he added kindly.

'Don't think I could, old boy.' Jonathan paused by the drinks tray and poured himself a generous measure of brandy. In his mind's eye he could see his sister's disapproving expression and nearly put the glass down. His nerves screamed at him and won the argument. The alcohol seared the back of his throat, but the familiar, comfortably warming sensation started to spread through his body.

'It's gonna be a long day. Get your rest while you can.'

Jonathan nodded wearily. Where they were to begin looking, he had no idea. There was nothing to go on. When Bob had regained consciousness, all he had been able to tell them was that Miss Evelyn had still been working and then he had been attacked from behind. Even O'Connell's network of dubious associates could not, Jonathan feared, shed much light on the proceedings.

He didn't dare ask whether O'Connell felt equally pessimistic.

'I think I'll take your advice. Get some shuteye. You?'

Rick placed the gun in its holster. 'Gonna take a little walk. I need some air.'

He didn't walk far. While he was confident that they were in no immediate danger, he didn't want to stray too far from Jonathan, just in case someone decided to mount an attack on the second Carnahan sibling. Rick prowled around the ground floor, wandering into the courtyard and back into the foyer again. There was no-one else stirring, only the night porter sitting behind the reception desk, his heavy-lidded eyes closing as he propped himself up one elbow.

It was easier, Rick thought, before he had met Evelyn. Then, he would complete a mission or offensive or whatever it was he had been ordered to do and then make sure that he forgot as much of it as possible before embarking on the next one. It was how he had been able to keep going.

And now there was life after Evelyn.

Which meant that there was nothing else in the world outside of her.

He stomped back up the stairs, marvelling over what it was that this petite, not as innocent as she seemed, English librarian had done to him. How it was that every breath he drew, every beat of his heart found its reason for being in her.

Rick stood in the corridor, his eyes drawn towards her door. Part of him wanted to go in there, to breath in her scent that he knew would still be in the air. He fumbled in his pocket, staring dumbly at the object he pulled out.

Her glasses. He had found them on the floor in the library, one of the lenses cracked right across.

He couldn't go into her room knowing that she wouldn't be there, knowing that she wouldn't suddenly appear before him. Madness lay that way. He shoved the glasses back into his pocket and strode resolutely down the corridor.

Jonathan was still fully dressed, lying on top of his bed, still clutching a half-full glass of brandy to his chest. Rick prised the glass out of his hands and then finished what was left of it. No point in letting good liquor go to waste.

The night sky had faded to a dull steely grey - the colourless precursor to the dawn. Rick closed the shutters against the encroaching light and then stretched out on the mattress. One hand behind his head he stared, dry-eyed, at the ceiling.

Evelyn was smart and tough. She had faced horrors that would have made grown men weep with terror and barely flinched. He would find her and she would be fine. And then they would all live happily ever after.

The thought became a sacred mantra.

He hadn't meant to fall asleep.

The shrill scream of the telephone, however, yanked him out of the troubled, semi-doze he had fallen into shortly before dawn. He rolled over, one hand groping blindly for the receiver. He could hear Jonathan mumbling on the other side of the room.

'Uh, hello?'

He heard the switchboard operator telling him to wait and then a click.

'Mr O'Connell?' It was a soft, feminine voice that he didn't recognise.

'Yeah. Who's this?'

'Selina. Selina Marshall? We met the other night, at the Embassy reception.'

Even through the fug of sleep he could hear the tension in her voice. 'Selina. Sure. Er, what was it you wanted?'

'I need to talk to you.'

'Look, now isn't a very good time. Why don't-'

'It's about Evelyn.'

Rick sat bolt upright, fully awake.

'Evelyn? What the hell happened? Where is she?'

The exclamation had evidently roused Jonathan - the older man had leaped from his bed and was now crouched anxiously near the receiver. Rick swatted him away irritably.

'I can't tell you over the telephone,' Selina replied, breathlessly. 'Can you meet me? You and Jonathan both.'

'Why don't you just tell me what-'

'I can't! Please. You have to come. Immediately. Do you know the Cafe Arabique? It's near the _suq_.'

'Yeah, I know it.'

'Be there in half an hour. Both of you.'

'Okay, okay, I'll be there. We'll both be there.'

'Good.'

Another click told him she had rung off. Rick stared at the receiver for a moment before replacing it.

'Well?' Jonathan exploded in agonised tones.

'That was Selina Marshall.'

'Oh for God's sake, you great American oaf, I gathered that much! What did she say?'

'She wants to meet us in half-an-hour. Apparently she has something to tell us.'

The full heat of the day had not yet built up, but even at this time of the morning the air is so warm that by them time one has finished dressing, another shower feels necessary. The bustling life of this vibrant city had not awoken - one of the few times of day when Cairo is relatively quiet. A few scruffy dogs set up half-hearted barks as the two men got into the car, but soon lost interest and fell silent.

Jonathan turned the key in the ignition. The engine let out a half-hearted rattle, sputtered and fell silent.

'For God's sake!' Jonathan hit the dashboard.

'Jonathan...'

'I don't know why I bloody keep this thing, I really bloody don't!'

'Jonathan!'

The blast rattled the windows in the surrounding streets.

A plume of black smoke reached upward, scarring the clear blue of the early morning sky. What was left of the car - a twisted hunk of metal - lay burning in the street.


	7. Last Year's Bitter Loving

Author's Note: Okay - couldn't sleep last night, so decided to put the finishing touches on the chapters I had been working on. Hopefully, this instalment will pacify those of you who think I am cruel and sadistic.  
There is still quite a way to go in the tale, but after this update, I am **definitely **doing some work on my thesis, so these three chapters will have to suffice for a couple of weeks. Unless I get through my work very quickly...  
Anyhow, read, enjoy, review! 

Chapter Seven: Last Year's Bitter Loving 

When consciousness returned, it was slow and painful.

Evelyn prised one eye open and then shut it again. Her head pounded, as though someone had taken a hammer to her brain itself and then replaced the skull. One side of her face felt swollen and bruised and her stomach heaved ominously. She lay quite still, vaguely aware of her predicament and equally vaguely grateful that she was not tied up. That in itself was a moot point: she was barely capable of movement as it was. She rolled onto her side, drawing her knees towards her chest and groaned piteously. Fragments of what had happened starting to surface from the confused fog of thoughts.

Evelyn forced herself to open her eyes again, but in the gloom she could make out very little. What she was aware of most was the smell - a noxious combination of motor-oil, kerosene and dirt. Another wave of nausea hit her and she gulped down lungfuls of the fetid air in an effort to maintain control.

There was a sound, something familiar that she couldn't quite place at first. Creaking. Like rope against wood and then beyond that the call of voices in the distance. It reminded of...  
A barge. She was on a barge. Moored along one of the less salubrious parts of the river, she surmised. Evelyn felt rather pleased with her deductions, but her sense of triumph was short lived.

The nausea and the pounding in her head had receded to bearable levels, so she ventured to sit up. Her cabin was small and one look at the heavy wooden door told her that it was locked. The single window was covered with a heavy grille - rendering the cabin both sombre and virtually airless.

There was, she realised, no way out.

Time, we like to tell ourselves, is a fixed, understandable component of our universe. Under extreme conditions, however, it becomes fluid and incalculable. Said conditions accurately describe Evelyn's predicament, and time had become an unknown quantity. If it was day or night, if she had been there for days or only hours, she did not know.  
There was time enough for her drug-induced stupor to have worn off, so that she was hungry, thirsty and exceedingly irritable by the time the door to her cabin finally opened.

The man who entered was carrying a tray - she stared at him, not truly believing what she was seeing.

David Barton smiled shyly in return.  
Evelyn watched him warily, unconsciously drawing herself into a ball.

'I thought you might be hungry,' he remarked.

'Well, that was considerate of you.' Her mouth and throat were painfully dry, giving her words a rasping edge.

'I don't want to fight with you, Evelyn.'

'Oh no, of course not. That would be terribly uncivilised. Almost as bad as sending some huge goon after a girl and knocking her unconscious.'

'Yes, I'm sorry about that,' he said, placing the tray on a low table near the bed. 'Some of these fellows get a little carried away, I'm afraid. Here.'  
He poured water out of a pitcher and the glass out to her. Evelyn eyed it suspiciously.

'Do you really expect to me to just drink that?'

'It's water, that's all. It will make you feel better.'

What would make her feel better, she was certain, was emptying the pitcher over his head - possibly even hitting him with it - and yelling at him very loudly. The more rational side of her warned her that this course of action was fruitless. And Evelyn prided herself on being a rational person. She accepted the glass and drank down the contents, barely able to suppress a sigh of satisfaction as the liquid cooled her parched throat. Once she was feeling slightly more human, Evelyn placed the glass on the table and sat forward, her feet firmly on the floor, her hands clasped primly in her lap.

'Now, David, listen to me.' It was her most calming, reasonable tone of voice. The one Jonathan called her most annoying, schoolteacher voice. 'I don't pretend to know what it is you think you are doing, but you should really let me go. No good can come of this.'

'Do remember when we were at Oxford, Evelyn?'

She blinked.

'Do you remember all the plans we had, all of the discoveries we were going to make?'

'That was a long time ago, David. You-'

'It wasn't that long ago.' His green eyes glittered menacingly. 'I remember all of it. I had tried to forget, and it almost worked. But then I heard that you were in Egypt and I realised that it was fate. The time was right, you see.'  
He wasn't really talking to her, she thought. He was talking at her: his eyes were fixed intently on her face, but he wasn't really seeing her. She remembered the earnest young undergraduate she had known and compared that memory with this man. The difference made her feel sick. Or had that madness always been there and she hadn't noticed at the time?  
But mad or not, just who did he think he was?

'David, if you had wanted to talk to me, all you had to do was say to me "I want to talk to you." Simple. There is no need for any of this.'

'Would you have come, if I had asked? I don't think so. Besides, I doubt very much that your,' he sneered over the word, 'fiancé would have allowed it. Anyway, there was no time to start coaxing you.' He waved his hand dismissively, as though this matter had now been dealt with beyond what was absolutely necessary. 'I've made some amazing discoveries, Evelyn. Really it's...' He gazed up at the ceiling, searching for the words. 'It's immense. World-changing. You have no idea of the power... And I want you to share it with me. You'll be a part of it - I knew that it was meant to be like that when I saw you again. I had planned it a little - before then, but when we were on the balcony...' he was close to her now, his hand stretching out to caress her cheek. Evelyn recoiled, slapping his hand away.

'David, I have no idea what you're talking about,' she snapped irritably.

'Oh, you will.'

She could feel the anger starting to bubble up. Her head was still aching miserably and she was in no mood for playing games or humouring a madman's evasiveness.

'This is ridiculous. I am not going tolerate this for another second.' Evelyn stood up, brushing past him to get to the door. He caught hold of her arm, wrenching it painfully behind her back and threw her across the room. She tried vainly to catch the bedpost but missed and landed on the floor. The breath was knocked out of her and she lay quite still for a moment, struggling for air.

'Don't do that, Evelyn. You're not going to get off this barge. I'll come back when you're in a more civilised frame of mind.' He started towards the door and then looked back over his shoulder, watching as she pulled herself on to the bed.

'If you ever touch me like that again, I swear to God-'

'Don't be stupid, Evelyn. There isn't anything you can do to me, so I'd try to behave it I were you. I don't particularly want to drug you or hurt you, but I will if I have to.'

'Your threats don't mean much. I've been kidnapped by-' she stopped herself hastily. 'Well, by people a lot more powerful and frightening than you.' It didn't have quite the same dramatic effect as 'an immortal mummy', but Evelyn felt that her point was made. She had helped put Imhotep back into his grave; David Barton held no fear for her. Besides, there was always Rick.  
She shook the hair out of her eyes defiantly. 'Rick will find me. And I really wouldn't like to see what he'll do to you when he does. You should just let me go while you're actually still breathing.' She had a brief, satisfying vision of Rick bursting into the cabin and beating Barton to a pulp.

He gave her a tight, sinister little smile, his eyes glittering. 'Oh,' he said softly, 'I don't think that Mr O'Connell will be giving us much trouble. Or your brother, for that matter.'

'What does that mean?'

'They met with an accident.'

It was the strangest sensation. As though all of her muscles had simply stopped working and the oxygen had suddenly left her lungs. She tried to speak, but her face felt numb - it seemed an age before she could finally form the words.

'What sort of accident?'

'A fatal one. My condolences on your loss.'


	8. Evelyn

Chapter Eight: Evelyn

When I was a little girl I had a fantasy - as most little girls do, I think - of a knight in shining armour riding to my rescue on a white horse.

The reality was that the knight came, not in armour, but in a dusty, battered shirt; and instead of a gallant steed, he had a bad-tempered camel. Admittedly, he was only there because I did, in effect, buy him. But he was still my knight. And he did rescue me.

My itinerant knight of the desert sands.

When did I fall in love with Rick O'Connell?

Was it when I realised that he would fight against a demonic priest and a street-full of his supporters, just to protect me? Or was it when he was standing at the quayside, looking so amused because he knew I had just been insulting him? Love at second sight, perhaps?

Or was it from the first, when I saw a pair of intensely blue eyes staring out at me from that cage of misery? Somehow, that was the moment when my life started making sense to me, when I truly started to live.

Have you ever had the feeling, when you've found something again that was once very dear to you but after so many years of separation you are no longer aware of feeling its absence, until finding it again reminds you of that feeling of loss, which has become a part of you? But when you rediscover it, you know it and think, 'Yes, this is what it feels like to be complete.'

That was how I felt when I met him, but I think that it took me a few days to realise it. I had no name for the feeling.

I used to think that love was something gentle and sweet, full of birdsong and flowers, but it isn't. It tears you apart and then rebuilds you again, but with someone else as part of you. It burns and hurts and destroys everything you have ever known about yourself. But then you become this other person - the better, stronger person you always wanted to be.

Did you know that love was like that, Rick?

Did you know it was so strong and terrible and beautiful?

I was brought up to believe in a kind and just God, but sort of God would bring us together, only to do this?

And Jonathan...

What do I do in a world that doesn't have you in it? All you ever wanted was fun and the possibility of love. You tried to take care of me: you weren't very good at it, but you tried the best you could. I loved you for that. Even if you hadn't tried, I still would have loved you anyway.

Do you remember how we used to play when we were children? We'd take the broken bricks from where the garden wall had fallen down and build pyramids. An entire Egyptian city in the flowerbed. Our own tiny kingdom and we would take it in turns to be pharaoh.

That was the way it was; we were always together.

And then we were going to be a family of three: you, Rick and I.

Oh, I know you made jokes when I told you about the house where we'd all live, but I could see that you were pleased.

It's funny; it never occurred to me that Rick would need you to be a part of our family as much as I do. As I did.

Oh God, give them back to me and I will do anything, anything, anything...

Rick, what would you do?

You'd kill them, wouldn't you? With every weapon available; and if there weren't any, you would use your bare hands. I can't do that. I don't know how. Maybe I should find another book and another curse and send him to the hell he deserves to be in.

Why did you make me stronger? I wish I could be weak again. Because it would be easier just to give in, to let this overwhelm me until I couldn't think or feel anymore. But I can't. This pain is nearly unbearable, but I am still standing. You are the strongest person I know ... I knew... And it made me find a strength in myself I didn't know was there. But now I need you more than ever and you aren't here.

You swore you would never leave me, Rick; and I don't think I can do this on my own.

I don't want to.

I can't.

I won't.

I have made a decision.

And it is this: I refuse to accept it.

I refuse to believe that they are dead. An animated mummy, the plagues of Egypt, legions of the undead and a plane-crash in the desert could not destroy them - I do not accept that they are dead now. Until I have seen the evidence with my own eyes, I will not believe it.

I will not grieve. I will not give them - give _him_ - the satisfaction of seeing me cry, of seeing my weakness, of seeing me break.

I have to believe in both of you, because it is the only way I am able to believe in myself.

I will come through this, I will survive and I will not submit.


	9. Old Acquaintance

Chapter Nine: Old Acquaintance

Selina Marshall mounted the stairs to her apartment slowly, pulling the wide-brimmed hat from her head as she went. She felt unutterably weary.

The shutters had been closed against the scorching afternoon sun and the small room she called home was dark. The meagre lighting from the landing was cut off when she closed the door, plunging her dingy surroundings into further gloom.

She didn't notice the figure sitting in the corner and started violently at the voice that suddenly spoke her name out of the shadows.

'Hello, Selina.'

She pressed herself against the wall, her eyes wide. 'Wh-who are... What do you want?'

'Hey, there's no need to be unfriendly. Or are you just surprised to see me?'

Rick O'Connell unfolded his large frame from the chair and crossed the room to her bureau. He scooped up a handful of items from her jewellery box and observed them thoughtfully, letting the shimmering objects slip back through his fingers. 'I was just testing a little theory of mine. Y'know, your rich girl act works at first, but it's this junk that gives you away. I've been around enough treasure in my time to know knockoffs when I see 'em.'

There was a long, unpleasant pause.

'I used to have a place like this,' he added. 'Only, they come cheaper if you don't mind not having a ceiling fan. Just a little advice for future reference.'

She licked her lips; her mouth and throat had become unnaturally dry. 'How did you find me?'

'I'm not gonna lie to you, it took some time. We started at the usual places - well, what we thought would be usual for you. And guess what? No-one had a clue where you lived. Which got me to thinking about this junk.' He picked a ring out of the box and held it up, inspecting it calmly before dropping it again. 'Then I asked a few old acquaintances if they knew anything about you. As it turns out, there actually aren't too many English girls living in this quarter of Cairo. Who knew. You're a local celebrity around here.' Rick leaned against the dresser and looked her up and down. 'How much did you get paid to act as bait?'

'I didn't know that was going to happen,' she said quickly.

He raised an eyebrow. 'Now, why don't I believe that?'

'It's true! I-I was just supposed to telephone you, to tell you where to go. I didn't know about the bomb, I swear!'

Her heart was beating unnaturally fast. She tried to calculate the distance to the door, but guessed - correctly, no doubt - that he would intercept her before she reached it. He seemed to fill her small room, the closed shutters only adding to the sense of claustrophobia.

'How did you..?'

He laughed mirthlessly. 'How did we get out? Luckily for us, Jonathan's car never starts the first time.'

§§§§§§§§§§§§§§

_Jonathan turned the key in the ignition. The engine let out a half-hearted rattle, sputtered and fell silent._

_'For God's sake!' Jonathan hit the dashboard. _

_The sound was so faint that Rick wasn't quite certain that he had heard it. Jonathan, still raging about his car, was oblivious._

_'Jonathan...'_

_'I don't know why I bloody keep this thing, I really bloody don't!'_

_Ticking. He was certain of it now and even before he formed the next word, he had started to move._

_'Jonathan!'_

_The Englishman broke off in the middle of his diatribe and turned enquiringly to his companion. Rick didn't stop for explanations, but simply grabbed him by the collar and dragged him out of the car. He threw himself across the street, hauling Jonathan behind him._

§§§§§§§§§§§§§§__

He smiled at her. Well, not truly a smile: it didn't reach his eyes. He bared his teeth at her. 'So, that's my party-piece for today. Now it's your turn. Where's Evelyn?'

'I don't know.'

He crossed the room in a single stride, grabbing hold of her arm and drawing her closer to him.

'Let's try that again, shall we? Where is she?'

'P-please, don't. I-'

'Skip it. You're gonna tell me what I want to know. Or I'll tear this city apart with my bare hands to find her. Starting with you.'

He increased the grip on her arm - not enough to actually hurt her, but enough to make her think that he would. Rick O'Connell had never struck a woman in his life and he took no pleasure in menacing Selina. But he saw fear in the depths of her eyes and knew, with grim certainty, that she would tell him what she knew.

'I don't know where Evelyn is, truly I don't.'

'Who told you to call me?'

'Please let go of my arm, I'll tell you everything.'

He studied her face and then released her abruptly. 'Okay, lady, spill.'

She smoothed down her hair with one hand, keeping her eyes on his face. 'It was David Barton. He was at the Embassy reception,' she added in response to his questioning look.

Rick stiffened. He remembered Barton only too clearly. The guy had had 'bad news' written all over him, but he'd been too busy acting like a jerk to notice much at the time. He berated himself inwardly.

'So he paid you, huh?'

Selina dropped her eyes, studying a little patch of floor.

'Yes. I'm not proud of it. But I was desperate!' She looked up at him again, her eyes shimmering with tears. 'Well, you can see how I live. There's nothing, and he -he...'

Rick had never known what to do when girls cried. He was good with practical solutions to practical problems - emotional messiness was something he usually managed to avoid. Selina's tears made him uncomfortable, but not uncomfortable enough to be distracting. A heavy dose of scepticism may be seen as a vice, but it was a quality that had served him very well in the past.

'You're breaking my heart. C'mon, knock it off. You can find a shoulder to cry on later.'

Selina glared at him, her face momentarily losing its prettiness. She looked almost rat-like before she recovered herself. 'He knew Evelyn would be at the party and he asked me to take him as a guest. I didn't think it would do any harm. Then, last night, he told me to telephone you about Evelyn - he told me what to say. He said it was a joke.'

'Yeah, it was real funny, Selina. Where are they now?'

She shook her head. 'I don't know, I don't!' She held up her hands defensively as he advanced on her again. There was an unearthly light in the depths of his blue eyes and Selina was quite certain that he was capable of carrying out his threat of mass destruction if he didn't get his fiancée back. What was it about Evelyn Carnahan, she wondered, that affected all these men so deeply? All right, she could keep David Barton - he was very definitely not Selina's type - but Rick O'Connell... Now he was something different altogether. This thought gave Selina an idea and she decided to try a new approach.

'He doesn't want to hurt her,' she said softly. 'David just wants her back - they used to be very much an item, you know.' She moved closer to him, turning her face up to his. 'They're quite a well matched pair, really. All of that studying and getting lost in books. You're a man of the world - you need someone who can keep up with you.' She placed both hands flat on his chest. 'Someone who is willing to do whatever you need them to, or want them too...'

Rick observed her thoughtfully for a moment. 'Sister, I'm not as dumb as I look. How much are getting paid for those moves?'

She drew back, her face distorting in anger. 'They have names for men like you,' she spat viciously.

'They have names for broads like you, too. But ever since I met Evelyn, I've been trying to improve my manners.'

'Get out.'

'We're not quite done yet.'

'If you don't get out, I'll start screaming!'

'People around here don't usually get involved in other people's business. You can scream all you like - I don't think anyone will come.'

Selina stiffened, biting her lower lip, but remained silent.

'For someone who doesn't know much about all this, you seem to know a lot about Barton's, er, motivation.' He watched her. 'Last chance, Selina. Where are they?'

'I really don't know. David just told me what he was going to do and paid me to help him. He said Evelyn would be fine.' She shrugged. 'And that's it. He may be a little ... extreme ... but he isn't dangerous. I wouldn't have become involved if he were.'

Rick let out a low whistle. 'How dumb can you get? He's tried to kill me and Jonathan, Selina. If I were you, I'd get out of here before he decides to go for you. But if anything has happened to Evelyn, I swear hiding won't do you any damn good. Because I will find you.'

She was pressed against the wall, torn between anger and fear, all of the colour drained from her face. He loomed over her and she closed her eyes, involuntarily shrinking away from him. She started when the door suddenly slammed shut.

Jonathan was waiting for him in the corridor.

'Still struck on her?'

Jonathan shook his head. 'I can't believe it. She always... I mean, I know she's a bit... God, I'd love to wring her bloody neck!'

Rick managed to laugh at this. 'Get in line.'

The two men started down the creaking staircase, ignoring the pairs of dark eyes that watched them through the cracks of barely-open doors.

'Are you sure that she told you everything?'

'She was too scared not to.'

'But were still no further forward! We still don't know where Evy is'

Rick turned to face him. 'We know who did this. It's a start Jonathan. We'll find her.'

There it was again - that absolute certainty. Jonathan nodded and they both continued down the stairs.

The air outside was heavy - a low blanket of cloud locking an oppressive heat into the city. Jonathan loosened the collar of his shirt, squirming in the heat. His clothes were dusty and were now sticking to him in the clammy heat. His entire body felt bruised and aching from when Rick had thrown him to the ground in those agonising few seconds before the explosion. Jonathan was quite certain that, firstly, his shoulder had nearly been dislocated and, secondly, that his hearing was permanently impaired.

'So, what now?'

'Back to the hotel. I need to pick up some stuff.'

One look at Rick's face told Jonathan exactly what "stuff" was - guns, and lots of them.

'I hope Evy's bloody grateful for all this trouble we're going to,' he grumbled, following Rick down the street and rubbing his shoulder meaningfully. 'You know, we could just leave her with Barton for a few days - might cure her of wanting adventures.'

'Jonathan-'

'Yes, old man?'

Rick blew out a breath, smiling in spite of himself. 'Nothing. Just come on.'

It was, Rick found to his surprise, comforting to hear Jonathan's complaints about Evelyn. It meant that he was feeling more confident about her safety and their chances of finding her. He glanced at the Englishman and realised - properly, for the first time - that they would soon be brothers-in-law. This man would be family. Rick shook his head rapidly.

That was a crisis to be dealt with on another day.

* * *

When Rick opened the door to their hotel room, it was his turn to start at the sight of an unexpected guest.

Ardeth Bey stood in the middle of the room. With his flowing black robes and tattooed face, he posed a somewhat anachronistic figure. He smiled slightly at the numerous Arabic epithets that Rick eloquently hurled at him and then bowed gravely.

'Salaam.'

'Yeah, right back at ya. Jeez, you scared the living... What the hell are you doing here? '

'Yes,' Jonathan added, heading directly for the drinks tray. 'Shouldn't you be out in the desert guarding something? Protecting humanity from assorted curses and whatnot? Oh, er, drink?'

'Thank-you, but no.'

'Right. I'll have yours.'

Rick was watching their visitor closely. He didn't know Ardeth very well, and the Medjai's inscrutable face was not easily read, but he could sense that there was something troubling him. And his appearance now, on this of all days, could not be a coincidence.

'So, what, you were just passing by on your camel and decided to pay a social call?'

'There is a matter of grave importance, which I must discuss with you.'

Jonathan leaned back in a chair, placing his feet on the table. 'Not that we're not happy to see you, and all that, old chap, but we're in the middle of a crisis of our own. Can't really spare the time. If you come back next week-'

'This concerns one of your countrymen,' Ardeth insisted. 'A David Barton.'

'But he's-' Jonathan noticed Rick's warning look and fell silent.

'What about him?' the American asked.

'He has disturbed something that should not have been disturbed. A terrible force that has been sleeping for thousands of years.'

'Great. Where have I heard this before. What's this got to do with us?'

'We believe that he stole something from the museum last night. I am hoping that Evelyn - Miss Carnahan, will be able to help us.'

'What he stole was Evelyn,' Rick said softly. 'He kidnapped her.'

Ardeth looked between them and then lowered his dark eyes. 'She will be safe. Allah will watch over her.'

'He better had,' Rick growled. A new thought came to him. 'How did you know the museum had been burgled?'

'Two men, who we know are in your Mr Barton's employment, were seen leaving-'

'And you let them go? You-you let them take her?'

Most men would have cowered in the face of the American's anger. Ardeth Bey was not most men. He looked at Rick unflinchingly.

'We did not know what they had taken. We were too late to see.' His dark eyes softened, sympathy clearly written in their depths. 'If I had known what they had done, I would not have permitted them to return to their master. We followed them.'

Silence.

'Then you know where Evy is!' Jonathan sat upright, spilling the remnants of his drink.

'There are things you must know first.'

'I don't need to know any more, Ardeth, just tell me where the hell they've taken Evelyn.' Rick was already across the room, yanking open drawers and retrieving his personal arsenal of weaponry.

Ardeth sighed. He admired the foreigner's strength, but his impetuousness... 'It is not so simple, my friend. This is more than just a kidnapping.'

'_Just_ a kid-'

'O'Connell, shouldn't we know what we're getting ourselves into before we go charging off? I thought that's what you soldier types were supposed to do, know all your facts.'

'Dammit, Jonathan!' He rounded on him, blue eyes blazing, but then took a number of deep calming breaths. 'You realise that every moment we waste, Evelyn could be that much closer to...' He couldn't bring himself to say it. He couldn't put into words the terrible fear that had been festering during these dismal hours.

'Just tell me where she is. Please.'

'On a barge. Down river.' Ardeth's voice was gentle, as though in response to the painful desperation in Rick's eyes. 'The Englishman will have no reason to harm her, I think.'

'How do you know that?'

The Medjai seated himself deliberately in a chair. He sat straight-backed, with head held high - the proud son of an ancient people. He was a warrior and a guardian of long-held secrets, but at heart Ardeth was a storyteller. His skill with the sword was second only to his skill in conjuring the heroes and legends of his heritage with words. The stories held knowledge and power and such knowledge had kept him alive. Before anything else, he would teach his new friends this lesson.

'Do you know the legend of the Sphinx?'

Rick threw himself onto the sofa, glaring balefully at the desert warrior. 'Something tells me I'm about to.'


	10. Ardeth's Tale

Author's Note: Here's a little something for the weekend! 3 Cheers for the Bank Holiday.

I am, I know, taking great liberties with the legend of the battles between Horus and Seth. The involvement of the Sphinx is entirely of my own invention. I apologise if I am offending the sensibilities of any scholars of Egyptian mythology, but if that sort of tampering is good enough for Mr Sommers and the folks at Universal, then it's good enough for me.

I would also like to say that the more accurate portions of the myth are based on the version that has Horus as the son of Osiris and Isis

Well, now that the notes are out of the way, yet more thanks to all my lovely readers and reviewers. I hope that you enjoy...

Chapter Ten: Ardeth's Tale

'In the three hundred and sixty-third year of his earthly reign, the god-king Ra-Harakhte led his armies into battle against Seth, the brother and murderer of Osiris - King of the Dead. Among Ra's warriors was Horus, the son of Osiris and Isis, keen to avenge his father's murder.

Horus enlisted the aid of Thoth, the moon-god of wisdom and the goddesses Nekhbet and Uazet. Together the deities transformed Horus into a burning sun disk with immense wings. Horus flew directly into the sun to look down upon his enemies and so fierce was the stare of the Eye of Horus, that the followers of Seth became confused and slew each other.

But Seth was as cunning as Horus - and more treacherous. He took his remaining followers and, turning themselves into crocodiles and hippopotami, they hid themselves in the Nile. There they lay in wait, biding their time until the boat of Ra would pass them.

Horus anticipated his uncle's evil plans and created powerful lances of iron, blessed by the words of Thoth. Horus pursued Seth and for many years the two of them battled across the lands of Egypt and Nubia. Thousands of soldiers were slaughtered on both sides until, finally, Seth and Horus faced each other on the corpse-strewn battlefield. Seth was a mighty opponent, but the anger of Horus still burned like the sun. He killed his uncle, cutting his body into pieces, as Seth had done to Osiris.

Horus brought the remains to his mother, Isis. But the goddess knew that death was not a barrier to a god. With the aid of Ra, she invoked terrible magics, captured the spirit of Seth and transformed him into a serpent. She cast him into a deep pit and Ra set a guardian over it - a ferocious demon with the body of a lion and the head of a man. The guardian was turned to stone and its demonic powers sealed into a sacred vessel.

The amulet was presented to Horus as a symbol of his kingship over the united kingdoms of Egypt. From Horus, it was passed down to each pharaoh through all the generations and ages of Egypt until it passed out of memory and was lost.

Whoever possesses the vessel has the power to awake the demon, free the serpent and battle the mighty Seth. If he is victorious, he can proclaim himself the successor to Horus and enter the pantheon of deities as a god. If he fails, Seth will enslave mankind and-'

'Destroy the world?'

'You know the story after all?'

Rick snorted. 'No, but they all end the same way. So I'm guessing that the vessel has been found, huh?'

Ardeth nodded. 'And when the sun rises on the morning of the equinox, he will awaken the Sphinx.'

'And the equinox is..?'

'The day after tomorrow,' Jonathan stated. Rick looked at him in surprise. 'You'd be amazed at the information I have stored in here,' he said, tapping the side of his head.

'So where does Evy fit into all of this?'

'He probably wants her to be his-' Jonathan paused, searching for a word that would not result in Rick eviscerating him. 'Consort. Very fond of a consort, the old Egyptian gods.'

'I'm very much afraid that you may be right,' Ardeth said, nodding. 'But that will ensure that Evelyn is safe for the time being.'

'And after that?'

Ardeth met Rick's eyes. 'Her position will be extremely dangerous.'

'I hate Egypt.' Rick's voice was a low growl. 'I hate ancient Egyptians and their gods, I hate curses, I hate egomaniacs who want to turn themselves into gods and I really, really hate mystic Arab guys coming in here and telling me we've got two days to save the world.'

His companions watched as he paced the room and wisely kept silent.

'And what's this thing with taking over the whole world anyway? Why not half of it? Or a quarter. If some guy wants to take over a quarter of the world, that's fine by me. I'll go live in another quarter. And saving the world is your job.' Ardeth returned his gaze impassively. 'Nothing to do with me. Not this time, nuh-uh, no way. I'm taking Evy and getting the hell outta here. Then you guys can do whatever it is you're supposed to do.' He came to a halt in the middle of the room, his large frame losing something of its nervous energy. 'Day after tomorrow, huh?'

'Yes.'

'But we're getting Evy back tonight.'

The Medjai smiled. 'Tonight, yes.'

'Think of it this way, old man, if we put an end to Barton's little scheme tonight, the whole Sphinx-curse job becomes rather a moot point.'

Rick brightened at this, but the shadows descended again a moment later. 'Knowing our luck, we'll probably just wake up a different demon. The whole damn country will probably be in flames by daybreak.'

'You have a worrying streak of pessimism, O'Connell, has anyone ever told you that?'

* * *

'I'm so glad to see that you're in a more accommodating frame of mind.'

'You haven't left me many alternatives.'

Evelyn sat, very erect and very still, barely looking at the man before her. If she looked him in the eye, she was certain that she would break. Despite all the horrors she had witnessed; and the terrible ordeal Imhotep had subjected her to, Evelyn had never actually hated the priest. Feared him, been awed by his power, yes - but never hated him.

She had never thought that she would be capable of hating anyone.

Now she was consumed by it. Pure, cold hatred that sat like a ball of iron in her chest, crushing her. She remembered the look on Rick's face when Imhotep had taken her and, for the first time, understood it. For the first time in her life, Evelyn wanted to kill someone. She forced herself to raise her eyes to his, digging her nails into the palms of her hands to stop herself from lashing out at him.

David Barton looked at her proud figure admiringly. She had drawn her hair back severely from her face, but a few dark ringlets still fell loose. The intervening years since their graduation had given greater strength to her features. Even with the bruising across her cheekbone, she was exquisite.

'There's no point in fighting me ... Evy-'

Her eyes flashed. 'Don't call me that.'

'Is that what _he_ called you? I can't for the life of me work out what a girl like you would want with some ignorant American brute. A Legionnaire, for God's sake. I even heard he'd been in prison.'

Evelyn was almost biting her tongue with the effort not to speak, not to react, but it was too much. She could endure anything, but not this. 'Rick. His name is Rick. And don't you dare talk to me about him.'

His face haunted her. His face, his beautiful blue eyes that stared at her with so much loving intensity, and his voice...

_'Half of me is afraid that one morning you'll wake up and realise you're too good for me. And I wouldn't blame you. I already know you're too good for me.'_

How could he ever have thought that? Maybe his manners did occasionally - all right, frequently - leave something to be desired, but he had a nobility and a generosity of spirit that was unequalled. He was amazing and he brought out the best in her. If she had never made him see that, it was unbearable to think that she would never again have the opportunity. Evelyn dismissed that thought immediately, still stubbornly clinging to her denial of what Barton had presented to her as a fact.

Her captor shrugged coolly. Her eyes, he had noticed, bore no signs of weeping. She was very pale, but apart from that she did not appear to be mourning the loss of her brother and the American. Perhaps she did not particularly care.

To David Barton, it made no difference either way. He had Evelyn and in less than two day's time, he would have power beyond the comprehension of mortal men. The one thing that truly annoyed him was the diamond on her hand. She was sitting so still at the moment that it burned with a steady fire - a green flame of reproach.

'Pretty trinket, that. Although, it's somewhat obsolete now, don't you think?'

He moved to take her hand and she pulled away, face hardening.

'I've already told you not to touch me, David. I really don't want to have to tell you again.'

He laughed then - highly amused by the threats from this slender girl. 'You don't learn, do you, Evelyn? I've told you that there is nothing you can do to me. No one is going to come for you, do you understand that? No one. It's just me. You should start getting used to that idea, because that is how it's going to be. Just you and me and-' He broke off, frowning as though he had said something he shouldn't. Or had been about to.

Evelyn took a few moments to gather her thoughts. There was nothing to be gained by antagonising Barton. She was aware that there was more to this than a lunatic's obsession with her; and she needed to know what was going on if she were to have any chance of stopping him. Even though the anger inside her was so fierce her throat was constricting with it, she forced herself to speak calmly - to smile even, as best she was able.

'You seem to have gone to a lot of trouble, David. Doing all of this, I mean.'

'Yes. Yes, I have.' He nodded. 'You have no idea.'

'No, of course I don't. Why-why don't you explain it to me?'

He turned bright, feverish eyes on her. If there were any warnings that she was merely trying to extract information, they were overridden by his ego.

'I'm glad you've asked me. I-I've wanted to share this with you, Evelyn. I had hoped-'

'Why don't you just tell me?'

He sat close to her. She flinched slightly, but held his eyes and hoped that he hadn't noticed.

'It's great power, Evelyn. Power from the time of the gods...'

* * *

The cloud, which had hung over the city throughout the day, had largely dispersed by sunset. The remnants had been transformed into fiery gold streaks and the last of the sun's rays had infused the sky above the horizon with a blood red stain.

Rick had found refuge in the courtyard and it was here that Ardeth found him.

'Do you still hate Egypt?'

The American started slightly, but didn't turn around. 'Evy's half Egyptian, you know. She loves it here. It's in her blood.'

'And you?'

Rick blew out a breath and turned his face up to the evening sky. 'I pretty much grew up here - give or take a couple of years. When I was in America, all I wanted to do was get back here.' He glanced at the Medjai. 'Don't think this means I'm getting all mushy on ya.'

Ardeth suppressed a smile.

'Are you guys all set?'

'Everyone is ready. We will attack from the river.'

'I remember - very effective method.'

'And yet you were able to escape.'

'It was the wet footprints. Dead give away.'

'Ah.'

The two men exchanged appraising glances and then smiled. Warriors and wanderers, they recognised each other for what they were. It was strange, Ardeth thought, that for all his own pride in his race, his caste and his heritage, he felt greater kinship with this stranger from the west than he did with many of his own people.

'I, er, just wanted to say ... thanks. Y'know, for doing this. You don't have to. I, er, do appreciate it.'

Ardeth inclined his head. 'Fate, it seems, in quite insistent on uniting us.'

'Fate?' Rick's tone was loaded with scepticism.

'You should have not survived your first visit to the City of the Dead. You alone of your companions survived the Tuareg attack.'

The American's eyes narrowed. 'So, that was you on top of that mountain.'

'One of my commanders wished to kill you, but I said not. I believed that the desert would provide that service for us.'

'Gee, that was big of you.'

'For some reason, our destinies are intertwined. Fate meant us to fight side-by-side, as it meant for you and Evelyn to find each other.' Ardeth paused and then added softly, 'Your love is like the desert wind.'

Rick considered this statement. 'Huh?'

'A mountain is immovable, yes?'

'I guess.' Rick was starting to become accustomed to Ardeth's narrative style. This anecdote could take some time.

'The wind in the desert is eternal. It picks up tiny grains of sand and over time, the mountain is slowly eaten away by the wind and the sand. Eventually, the mountain will fall, but the wind will still blow.'

'Uh-huh.'

There was silence for a while.

'Y'know, in your little story, I think Evelyn's the wind. Anything that's even remotely chaotic, that would be her. Me, I'm just the sand - and it's not always pretty being blown around in there. And I can't believe I'm actually having this conversation.' Rick shook his head in disgust.

'My friend, you have the soul of a poet.

'Shut up.'

Rick started determinedly back towards the foyer. For someone who had spent most of his life burying his feelings, there had been far too much discussion of emotions lately for his taste.

Ardeth shook his head slightly, trying to hide his amusement at Rick's discomfiture and followed him inside. He attracted some curious stares from the other hotel patrons as he swept through the foyer and up the great staircase, but he didn't notice. Partly because the opinions of strangers meant nothing to him and partly because he was lost in his own thoughts.

In another lifetime, O'Connell could quite easily have been a Medjai. It hadn't really come as a surprise to hear of Evelyn's heritage - if anything, it strengthened Ardeth's belief in their destinies. The American soldier and the Anglo-Egyptian librarian. Something stirred in his memory: a vague recollection of one of the lost legends of Egypt that were still passed down among his people. Something to do with a Princess and her personal bodyguard. When the present crisis was over, he vowed, he would recover that near-forgotten tale.


	11. The Gallery of Frost

Author's Note: Hope this update finds everyone in good health. Lilylynn - your comments are never rude! I probably deserved everything I got for ending a chapter with an explosion! I always love hearing what you think of the story as it goes it along - as I do everyone's. Your feedback keeps me writing (the story is already much longer than originally intended!)

Chapter Eleven: The Gallery of Frost

When I was considerably younger than I am now, I had my first hangover. On the night before that horrendous event, I had been able to hide my drunken state from my parents only because I had sneaked back into the house after they were in bed. My parents - God rest them - believed me to be already sweetly slumbering in my room at the time.

The hangover was another matter and help came form the most unlikely source. My own dear, butter-wouldn't-melt-in-her-mouth, baby sister.

Evelyn missed her calling, she really did. She ought to have gone on the stage: no-one can play at innocence like Evy. She informed our parents that I had a fever, and they believed her. _I_ would have believed I had a fever, except for the vivid memory of the copious amounts of alcohol I had consumed. In private she scolded me, called me names and fed me vast quantities of aspirin and water.

That has set the pattern for our relationship ever since. After our parents died I, as the elder sibling, should have taken care of Evelyn. I fear that the roles have been reversed and that Evelyn has taken care of me.

She is my baby sister and if anything happens to her, I honestly don't know what I'll do.

O'Connell blames himself.

I have told him, repeatedly, that none of this is his fault, but he prefers to torture himself. He has informed me that he should have killed Barton when he had the chance, when he first saw him bothering Evelyn.

A noble sentiment, no doubt, but I am not certain that murdering someone because of something they haven't done yet is adequate grounds for a defence. I have not pointed this out to him, as I don't think he is interested in rational arguments. Not that I'm in a mood for rational myself - when O'Connell gets his hands on Barton, I hope he throttles him. I'll help.

I don't really think that I am cut out for this sort of lark. I prefer the idea of an adventure much more than the actual thing itself. Not that this is an adventure - it's far too serious and there is too much to be lost.

The night is, fortunately for us, very dark. This particular stretch of river smells particularly foul. I think I'm going to be sick. I need a drink.

It's so dark that I can barely see anything. The only way I know some of Ardeth's merry little band are nearby is because I can hear them breathing. Every now and then there is a low whisper, but they speak so softly the words cannot be heard above the breeze. I am in the rearguard. As Evy's brother I should, no doubt, be charging in first to rescue her. I may be guilty of foolishness on occasion (not as frequently as some members of my family claim) but I am not delusional. I am fully aware that I would be of little use at the front of such a venture. We want Evy back in one piece, after all. I'll leave the bravura heroics to O'Connell.

It's strange how completely I trust him in this matter.

Of course I am not going to live with the pair of them. They're bad enough at the moment - the thought of watching them legally slobber over one another once they are married is unendurable.

Of course, there's nothing like having a brother living with one to cramp the style of a young married couple.

No, no I'll remove myself back to the flat in London. Rather looking forward to having the place to myself, really. Bachelor pad. No frilly feminine bits cluttering the place up. Just me and my ... well, _my_ things.

I was rather touched when Evy brought the subject up, though.

I think my foot has gone to sleep.

There are lights on the barge and I keep wondering if one of them is hers. I want to yell out to her not to worry, that we're coming for her. That I'm here and O'Connell is here and everything is going to be all right.

I suppose I should start calling him Rick. After all, we are going to be family before long. When I was much younger I always wanted to exchange Evy for a brother. I remember very clearly asking my father if we could send her back where she came from and get a boy instead. He turned a bit pink, laughed and ruffled my head. After all this time it's strange to think that I will have a brother, of sorts.

I have not prayed in a long time, but I will pray now. Dear God in heaven, how I will pray tonight. For Evelyn and for Rick.

A flare has gone up on the barge. It is time.


	12. Troubled Midnight

Chapter Twelve: Troubled Midnight

Her body was desperate for rest.

Evelyn's eyes felt raw from lack of sleep, but her nerves and the whirling anxiety of her mind denied her any repose. David Barton's plan was, quite simply, insane. What terrified her was the fact that - insane or not - it could quite easily succeed unless someone stopped him. And as there was no-one else, that someone would have to be her.

She had to get the vessel of Horus from him – that much she knew – and the papyrus that contained the instructions on how to awaken the Sphinx. How she was going to do this, Evelyn had no idea. She had no sticks of dynamite concealed on her person. The truth was that Barton's discoveries were remarkable. From a purely academic viewpoint, they were astounding, exciting and would guarantee that whoever presented them to the Department of Antiquities would have their future assured. The Egyptologist in her dreamt of seizing the vessel and the papyrus and, somehow, keeping them in tact until she could alert the Bembridge Scholars. But she had seen enough of the power and terror of the ancient world to know that if the artefacts had to be destroyed in order to keep the demon at rest, then it was a price worth paying.

She did not allow herself to think about what would happen when all of this was over.

Evelyn stretched out on her hard mattress and stared at the ceiling. If she were perfectly honest, she would have admitted that, even had she been able to, she was too scared to sleep. Too scared of the dreams she knew would come, of the faces that would haunt her and the memories that would tease her. She closed her eyes tightly, swallowing hard against the lump that had suddenly risen in her throat. It choked her. All she wanted to do was scream her rage and pain, but she could not – would not – do it. Once again, she told herself that there may very well be nothing to grieve for – but self-delusion can only last so long.

Evelyn rolled onto her side, still staring sightlessly ahead. Her thick, unruly hair kept escaping from its pins and clinging to her neck. She felt filthy and overheated. Her thought processes, much to her frustration, functioned better after the benefit of a hot bath, clean clothes and decent food. Despite the lack of all that, Evelyn was determined that she would remain alert. She had to be prepared to use the slightest occurrence to her advantage. It was very quiet. The water lapping against the hull was the loudest sound, the peace of the night broken only occasionally by a cry from further up the embankment.

And then there was a crash.

Evelyn sat up, her hands clutching the rough blanket, her heart thundering.

The air was suddenly full of shouts and what sounded like gunshots. Loud banging overhead – someone running across the deck above her cabin. The entire barge seemed to be rocking under this onslaught and Evelyn, her momentary paralysis over, leapt up. Who was out there, she neither knew nor cared at the moment – it just meant a possibility for escape.

If Barton or one of his cronies didn't come for her first. But they probably would not count on her being prepared to ambush them.

Evelyn scoured the meagre cabin wildly, looking for anything that could do duty as a weapon. The only thing was her water-pitcher: thick glass with a heavy base. She weighed it in her hand thoughtfully. If she swung it hard enough, she could inflict some serious damage. It would have to do.

She positioned herself by the door, her body tense. Despite the noises that were increasing in volume, the overwhelming sound in her ears was her own breathing.

Footsteps were coming down the corridor outside and the next moment the door burst open and a man - an Egyptian - spilled into the room.

Evelyn raised the pitcher and brought it down on his head. The man let out a guttural moan and fell to the ground, twitching. The velocity of her swing carried Evelyn halfway across the cabin and she had barely regained her balance when another figure appeared in the doorway. She gripped her weapon firmly, but before she could do anything, he had grasped her wrist. She let out a little 'oh' of surprise, the pitcher fell crashing to the ground and she found herself swung unceremoniously over his shoulder.

The corridor was full of flames and acrid smoke. For a moment she was blinded and coughed piteously as the fumes engulfed her. Her most recent abductor strode quickly down the narrow passage; Evelyn, however, was not prepared to give in without a fight. She started kicking and pounding her fists on his back as hard as she could, yelling expletives that would have made her brother blush.

A large hand smacked her smartly on the rear.

'Cut it out, Carnahan. I'm trying to rescue you here.'

She froze, not out of obedience, but because she seemed to have lost all feeling in her body. Relief - immense and powerful - swept through her. Her hands grasped the fabric of his robes and she felt the powerful muscles in his back supporting her. She squirmed around, trying to see his face.

'Rick!'

The cry was a warning.

Rick spun around to find another of Barton's henchmen running down the corridor towards them, wielding a large sword.

Evelyn, who had narrowly missed hitting her head against the wall in the manoeuvre, heard the gunshot and then was turned around again as Rick continued their escape.

A crumpled figure in white lay motionless in the burning corridor behind.

Evelyn's head jolted uncomfortably as Rick attacked the narrow stairs at a run.

'Rick-Rick, put me down!'

He steadied himself against the handrail on the stairs. 'Now's not a good time to start giving orders, honey.' He let go of the rail long enough too give her another sharp smack. 'Quit squirming before I drop you.'

Even over the crackle of the flames and the shouts from Ardeth's men, he could hear her muttering ominously and grinned to himself. Whatever punishment Evelyn felt was necessary for this indignity, he was more than happy to take. Just as long as she was around to give it.

He reached the top of the wooden steps and kicked the door onto the deck open.

After the long hours confined in the bowels of the barge, the night air felt deliciously cool against Evelyn's skin. Everything around her was dancing at an impossible angle, but she could see smoke and flames, and heard the occasional tortuous scream.

Rick came to a halt and she was able to push herself up far enough to se that they were at the edge of the deck and Rick was calling down to someone over the side.

The barge was no longer moored, but was drifting slowly down the dark river.

'Time to get off.'

Evelyn's feet touched the ground, her view of the world righted itself and the warm, comforting, entirely alive bulk of her fiancé stood over her. The black cloth had fallen away from his face and Evelyn had a brief sight of blue eyes in the moonlight before he picked her up and lifted her over the side of the barge. She did not land in the Nile this time, but found another pair of arms waiting for her. A smaller boat was alongside the barge and as Evelyn was pulled into it, she recognised the dark, tattooed faces and black clothes of the Medjai warriors. She barely had the time to wonder how they had become involved in all of this when she recognised another face.

'All right over there, old mum?'

Her throat constricted painfully. Jonathan had not donned the black robes of the Medjai as Rick had done - his concession to the clandestine nature of the proceedings was to wear his darkest grey suit. Now he sat grinning at her as though they were on a pleasure cruise at Henley. She wanted to hug him, but even Evelyn - not always noted for her practical responses - was aware that she could capsize their small craft if she stood up. Instead she stretched out her hand and her brother grasped it, his eyes suspiciously moist.

A shout from above drew their attention.

Evelyn looked up and saw Ardeth Bey leaning over the side of the barge, but could not understand all of the words he called down. She guessed their meaning when the men took up their oars and started to push away from the barge.

'What are you doing? Where do you think you're- Rick is still on there!'

She tried to grab the oar of the man nearest to her.

'Evy calm down, it's all right - you'll have us over, girl!'

The Medjai closest to her turned. 'It is dangerous to remain here. The fire has spread. Your man is safe and he wants you on land.'

Flaming debris was falling into the water and a deep, low rumbling from inside the barge spoke of an explosion in the engine room. The force rocked their small boat and the waters of the Nile boiled around them.

Panic rose in her. For a moment she considered jumping back into the water, but even if she did that, there was nothing she could do. She watched helplessly as they moved further away from the barge, her eyes straining in the attempt to see a black-robed figure on the deck.

The boat bumped against the shore and Evelyn was pulled to her feet, her legs feeling decidedly unsteady when she finally stood on firm land. She felt lost - there must, surely, be something she should be doing, but she didn't know what. A pair of hands grasped her shoulders gently and turned her around. Her brother's mouth twitched into a smile - as mischievous and insouciant a ever.

She clung to him fiercely, burying her face in his shirtfront and getting the unmistakable scent of his after-shave. Bay Rum. Jonathan held her for a moment and then gently prised her arms from his neck.

'Steady on, old girl. Give a chap some breathing room.' He took her chin in his hand and asked softly, 'You are all right aren't you? You're not hurt - not badly?'

Evelyn managed a watery smile. 'I'm fine.'

He studied her face for a moment, tenderly running a thumb over her cheek.

'Evelyn.'

'What?'

'Nothing. Just, Evelyn.'

She patted his face. 'You need to shave, Jon.'

'I know. When this is all over, I'll be spruce, dapper and ready to take you out on the town. I'll dance every dance with you. I'll even dance with Rick, as long as he doesn't step on my toes.'

Evelyn giggled and rested her head on his shoulder. 'Idiot.'

They both stared across the dark water, illuminated by the dancing flames on the barge and waited. Jonathan took hold of his sister's hand and squeezed it. For the second time that night, he started to pray.

* * *

'Where the hell is he?'

'We must go. The boat will sink.'

'You go. I'm gonna find him.'

Ardeth cursed under his breath and followed Rick along the deck. The smoke was thick, stinging the eyes and filling their mouths. The black fumes made both men feel sick, but they still moved forward - one man seeking vengeance, the other sworn to protect the first.

Rick held one hand over his mouth, squinting against the acrid smoke and started back down the steps and towards the cabin where Evelyn had been held. The lights had gone in the passage, the only illumination now was from the flames. His eyes pierced the gloom and he felt a surge of satisfaction when, ahead, he saw his quarry.

David Barton saw the two men in front of him and his lips pulled back from his teeth - a grotesque rictus grin. The dim orange light gave his face an unnatural glow and glinted off the magnificent amulet around his neck. Gold, carnelian and lapis in the form of a great disk with outstretched wings.

Ardeth grabbed Rick's arm and whispered urgently, 'The amulet!'

Rick's eyes didn't leave the other man's face. 'I've been looking forward to this.'

'You're wasting your time, you know. By tomorrow, I will be a god. You will be begging for my mercy. _I_ shall look forward to _that_.'

'Don't hold your breath. It's a while before morning - and you're not a god yet.'

A flash of irritation crossed the Englishman's face. 'You're pretty bloody arrogant for a mercenary. Why couldn't you just do the decent thing and die in that explosion? You know all it means is that you get to watch me take Evelyn from you again.' He sneered. 'Actually, that's an even better idea. Thank you.'

Ardeth saw Rick's figure stiffen at the mention of Evelyn's name. He silently willed his friend not to lose his temper before they had retrieved the amulet. The Englishman was a mortal - he certainly did not have the power of a god or the Creature, but he was still supremely dangerous.

'Okay.' Rick's eyes narrowed, their clear blue depths now hard and glittering. 'We end this. Now.'

'Perhaps.'

Barton suddenly raised both hands together and a flame flared up. He threw the object to the ground and Rick, letting out a yell of surprise and warning, leapt backwards.

He landed heavily, momentarily winded and felt Ardeth struggling beneath him. Rick swore violently and struggled to his feet. A wall of flame filled the narrow passageway and through its blazing heart, he could see that Barton had gone. He replaced his gun into the holster and braced himself.

Ardeth regained his footing and saw Rick gauging the intense flames. He grabbed him.

'You cannot do this! It is madness!'

'Ardeth, let me go or I swear to God I'll-'

'Kill me, my friend, if you wish. But you will die in these flames.' He eyed the fire behind Rick apprehensively. It was spreading towards them and the smoke was already filling the passageway.

'I thought you wanted to get that damn amulet.'

'I do. But for now we must wait. Tonight, Evelyn is safe - tomorrow we will make sure that the rest of the world is. You must come.'

Rick cast one last, reluctant look over his shoulder and then started back towards the stairwell. Ardeth's calmness was, he thought, incredibly annoying at times, but there appeared to be something to be said for rationality What was it he had told him? _'Live today - fight tomorrow.'_ Maybe he should take that up as his motto.

They regained the upper deck and paused for a moment: the fire had spread everywhere and an ominous creaking warned them that the barge was on the point of disintegrating. There was nothing else they could do but swim back to shore. Ardeth scanned the deck, plotting a clear way forward through the flames and started to ease forwards.

Rick suddenly grabbed hold of Ardeth's robes and pulled him backwards. The Medjai flattened himself against the wall and eyed the large hole that had just appeared where flooring used to be. He looked over his shoulder and flashed a smile at Rick.

'My gratitude. I owe you my life.'

Rick shrugged. 'Forget it, buddy. You've saved my ass a few times - call it even.'

He nodded gravely and the two men cautiously skirted the gaping hole and started inching towards the deck-rail.

* * *

From the shore, the gathered watchers saw two figures jump from the burning wreckage into the water. They disappeared beneath the oily surface, choppy rings extending out from where they had been. For a few heart-stopping seconds, there was nothing; and then the surface of the water broke a few feet away from where they went in.

Evelyn realised that she was holding her breath – her lungs burned from it. She leaned heavily against her brother and watched the progress as the two men swam back to shore. They were both strong swimmers, their strokes firm and assured. Their black robes billowed around them and the inky water was streaked with virulent orange and flashes of silver from the waning moon.

The two men pulled themselves out of the river, the Medjai providing many willing hands to pull them the rest of the way.

Evelyn remained with Jonathan, the pair still holding each other, but her eyes were on Rick. He pushed his hair out of his eyes, wiping the water from his face and scanned the small group on the riverbank impatiently. Their eyes met and for a second neither of them moved ... until Evelyn threw herself at him.

Rick caught her easily, standing steady under the impact of her body colliding with his. He crushed her to him, one hand cradling her head against his chest. Evelyn wrapped her arms around him and closed her eyes, listening to the steady beat of his heart against her ear. He smelt of smoke and river water. She held on to him, squeezing him with all of her strength and then raised her head when she heard his faint growl of pleasure. His lips captured hers and her fingers grasped the wet hair at the back of his neck.

'Oh please.' Jonathan watched the scene in disgust. At least, that was what he preferred every one to think. 'Will you two bloody give it a bloody rest? Honestly, it's enough to make you want to dig your own eyes out with a spoon.'

At their request, Ardeth translated these comments for the benefit of his brethren who did not speak English. They bowed their heads, vainly attempting to stifle their laughter.

The couple eventually drew apart, studying each other in the moonlight.

'Why the robes?'

Rick jerked his head towards Ardeth. 'His idea. According to the oracle over there, my clothes would be too conspicuous. Of course, a boatload of Bedouin wouldn't be out of place around here at all.'

Ardeth paused in wringing the water out of his clothes and drew himself up majestically. 'We are not Bedouin,' he informed them. 'We are Medjai.'

Rick rolled his eyes. 'Yeah, whatever.'

Despite the apparent bickering, amusement and a guarded affection softened the eyes of both men.

Ardeth observed the couple standing together. The way Evelyn seemed to fit perfectly in the circle of the soldier's arms. Unified and indestructible, in soul if not in body. From across the chasm of time and the whispering, restless desert sands, Ardeth heard the faint echo of ancient lives. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. He was bound to this man and woman, he realised. For a reason not yet revealed to him, their souls had been brought together.

But the time had not yet arrived. Three sides of the pyramid. There was still another.

Evelyn, her head resting against Rick's chest, looked over at the Medjai and smiled. 'I should thank you, really. You could have been killed, um, Mr-Mr Bey, isn't it?'

'Ardeth,' he replied, bringing his hands together and bowing to her.

Her face was radiant. 'Ardeth.'

Her gaze was drawn back to the burning wreckage on the dark water. 'David - is he...?'

Rick's arms tightened around her.

'He escaped,' Ardeth informed her gently.

'Oh, bloody hell!' Jonathan scrubbed the back of his hand across his forehead and glared at the assembled group. 'So what do we do now?'

'You take Evelyn back to the hotel.'

She pulled herself out of his arms. 'And where will you be going?'

'Somewhere Barton might go.'

'I'm going with you,' she informed him, her eyes flashing stubbornly. 'You're not chasing around Cairo on your own-'

'He won't be on his own.'

Once again, the Medjai and the American met each other's eye.

'See, I got my own personal bodyguard. It won't be for long,' he added before she could say anything else. 'It's just something I've gotta check and then I'll be straight back to the hotel. I promise.'

'Come on, old mum, get yourself all spruced up before you start banging your eyelashes at O'Connell again.' Jonathan put his arm around her shoulders.

'My men will escort you.' Ardeth turned and delivered a few rapid instructions to his companions.

'Right, that's all settled then. Evy, come on.'

Jonathan pulled his sister's unresisting form with him as the Medjai closed around them. Evelyn strained her neck, her eyes still searching the gloom.

'Rick...'

He stood on the shore - tall, strong and proud. His eyes found hers, his gaze blazing silver in the moonlight. The look penetrated her soul and her heart soared.


	13. All That's Best of Dark and Bright

Author's Note: As always, a huge thank-you to all of my reviewers (you make my day and keep me writing!) After angsty parts and dramatic rescues, I thought that it was time to reward your patience with a solid dose of fluff. I hope that you enjoy it – comments are always gratefully received.

Chapter Thirteen: All That's Best of Dark and Bright

Rick pounded heavily on the door.

Nothing.

Ardeth glanced warily down the corridor, but none of the other doors opened. He was accustomed to the desert and the ways of its people, but he could easily surmise that this was the sort of neighbourhood where no-one interfered with anyone else's business.

Rick had divested himself of his borrowed robes as soon as Evelyn and her escort had left them. Under the robes he wore a simple dark shirt and trousers - now in his own clothes and in the knowledge that Evelyn was safe, Rick was starting to feel more like himself. Nevertheless, he suppressed the desire to simply kick the door open and tried the handle instead. The door swung open, creaking slightly on the rusty hinges. The two men exchanged glances and entered.

It was a dingy room at the best of times – without the ragged bits of finery that Selina had arranged around it in an attempt to disguise her own degradation, it appeared even more squalid. That Selina was gone was obvious from the first. Rick pulled open the doors of the wardrobe, but it merely confirmed that it was empty. He sat heavily on the edge of the bed. Evidently, she had taken his advice to heart and left while she still could.

'Did you really think he would be here?'

Rick looked up at his companion and blew out a breath. 'Not really, I guess. I just had to be sure. Even if Selina had been here she probably wouldn't have known where he'd go. Don't think she'd want to.'

Wherever she was, he thought, she would soon find someone else to take up with. Someone who didn't really care what she did. The sort of man he himself had been, before. Only with more money. Rick took a moment out from despising her to wish her luck and then dismissed her from his thoughts.

Ardeth said nothing. He felt for Rick's sense of frustration, but had no words of advice. There was nothing to say that would erase the pain and anxiety of the past hours and nothing that would make the present situation any easier. With the Englishman Barton still free, they were all in danger.

Rick finally stood and wandered over to the window; he gazed out for a moment and then let the shutter fall closed with a dull thud.

'There's, er, there's something … Well, something I've been, er, kinda meaning to ask. You. To ask you.'

Ardeth looked at him curiously. It was strange to hear Rick O'Connell sound so uncertain. He waited.

'It's just…' He cleared his throat, not quite meeting the other man's eye. 'We're getting married soon. Evelyn and I.'

'I did not think that you would be marrying someone else.'

Rick grinned sheepishly and took a deep breath. 'It's just a small ceremony, nothing fancy. But, er, I was wondering if – I mean it's not like it's any big deal, but… Would-would you be my best man?'

Ardeth became very still.

'It's just, y'know, a sort of formality. You just have to hold the ring and-'

'I know what it is. Should you not ask someone from your family? Or a friend?'

'I don't have a family,' Rick answered bluntly. 'As for friends…' He shrugged. 'Most friends I had, if you can call them that, are dead. I'd ask Jonathan, but he's giving Evy away. And, well, to be honest, if I was gonna actually choose someone, I guess it would be you.'

It was not the most graciously worded offer Ardeth had ever heard. Nevertheless, he smiled and in that moment looked far younger that his habitually stern visage usually allowed.

'I would be truly honoured, O'Connell.'

'Good. Great. Thanks.' Rick O'Connell was not a man given over to sentimentality, but he did have an appreciation of genuine emotion. The fact was that throughout the course of his life, emotion of any kind had played very little part. During his adult life, the people he had termed 'friends' had merely been associates and fellow soldiers he had not particularly cared for. With Ardeth, it was different. It was even different with Jonathan. Despite their differences, he felt true fondness for the Englishman. With Ardeth, the connection transcended simple friendship, as though it were a primal bond of flesh and blood. For the first time in his life, Rick had friends and family. He ran a hand through his hair self-consciously and glanced around the bare room. 'C'mon, we're done here. Let's go back to the hotel.'

They made their way down the stairs.

'By the way, just because you're the best man, it doesn't mean you get to start telling bad jokes about me and hiring strippers.'

The Medjai stared at him, bewildered. 'Strippers?'

Rick laughed and shook his head. 'Ardeth, buddy, we've gotta work on that sense of humour of yours.'

* * *

They found Jonathan and Evelyn in her suite.

After a much appreciated bath and edible food, Evelyn was sitting on the settee, resplendent in her brother's silk dressing-gown and clutching a half-full glass of whisky. She beamed at Rick and Ardeth as they entered, her cheeks flushing pink.

'You're back!'

She attempted to stand up but became entangled in the voluminous folds of the dressing-gown and sat down again.

Rick glared at Jonathan. 'Great. You got her drunk.'

'Ooh, I am _not_ drunk!'

'Certainly not, dear boy. She's had about three sips and managed to slosh most of the stuff all over the cushions. Bloody waste, if you ask me.' He looked over at his sister critically. 'Although, you are looking a bit squiffy, sis. I know you're a cheap drunk, Evy, but this is ridiculous.'

'Oh, _honestly_!' Evelyn rolled her eyes. 'Well, I am not going to say it again.' She slapped her glass down on the table emphatically – the liquid inside spilled out over her hand. 'Oops.'

Now that the tension had drained out of her body, she felt limp and hollow; even the smallest amount of alcohol had set her head buzzing. She looked up at her fiancé and smiled guiltily.

Loose curls were falling around her face and her eyes sparkled with an inner fire. He felt as though someone had grabbed hold of his insides and was squeezing them until he could hardly breath. The sudden, intense sweep of love for this woman was dizzying and terrifying. He realised how close he had come to losing her and made a silent vow that he would never allow anyone or anything to harm her again. Rick lowered himself onto the settee next to her, still watching her.

Jonathan observed this scene indulgently and then waved an arm at Ardeth. 'Have a seat, old son. Evy's been telling more about old Horus and Seth. Only with added gory bits. Very morbid streak she's got, my little sister - bless her. Will you two stop drooling over each other until respectable people have left the room?'

Rick raised an eyebrow. 'Respectable? Getting delusions again, Jon?'

'I was referring to Ardeth,' Jonathan stated with dignity.

'And I have never drooled over anyone in my life,' Evelyn supplied adamantly.

Jonathan smiled into his whisky and then looked up at his sister innocently. 'Course you haven't, sis. Just a slip of the tongue.' It was just too easy to tease her sometimes, he thought. Admittedly, it was something that he probably should have grown out of by now, but he saw no reason to change the habit of a lifetime.

Ardeth was staring moodily at an unspecified patch of floor.

'What's eating you?'

He looked up at Rick. 'Barton was wearing the amulet.'

'I know. It was kinda hard to miss.'

'Even though we have Evelyn back, nothing in his plans has changed. He will still attempt to awaken the demon and-'

'You-you actually saw the amulet?' Evelyn's face flushed and she was almost stammering with excitement.

'Oh God, here we go,' Rick groaned.

'W-well, what did it look like? Did you see the papyrus?'

'You had to bring it up, didn't you?' Rick glared at Ardeth. 'You couldn't just keep that part to yourself.'

'Oh be quiet.' She leaned forward, little patches of pink burning on each cheek. 'David told me about the papyrus, but I didn't actually see it. You know, apparently it was actually dictated to Horus by Ra himself and then Horus presented it to Narmer – the Catfish King,' she added by way of explanation to Rick.

'Why was he called… Actually, don't tell me. Save some of the fun for tomorrow.'

Evelyn's hands were fluttering around her as she talked, her eyes glowing. 'I know that David has to be stopped, but if we could save the amulet and the papyrus… I-it's one of the most exciting archaeological discoveries of recent times – perhaps of anytime!'

'Hey, even more than the Book of the Dead?' Rick asked sardonically.

'I was not the one who dropped the Book,' she responded, looking meaningfully at Jonathan. The fact that the Book of the Dead was buried beneath the sands at Hamunaptra – probably lost forever - was not something that Evelyn could get over very quickly. 'That is not going to happen to the papyrus. I-it is a link – a tangible link between the gods of Egypt and the first pharaohs! It's incredibly valuable!'

Rick exchanged a despairing glance with Jonathan. The latter shrugged and took a long pull of his whisky.

Evelyn turned to Ardeth. 'The papyrus… I-it's instructions written by a god. We have to preserve it, study it… Present it to a museum, or a library… Oh, you must understand!'

Ardeth suppressed a smile. 'Yes, Seshat.'

Rick raised his head. 'Who now?'

'Ah, of course, old Seshat,' Jonathan said airily. 'Yes, he was, er… '

'_She_ was the senior goddess of writing,' Evelyn said, tucking a stray curl behind her ear and flushing at the compliment. 'Her name means "foremost in the library".'

Rick snorted. 'A goddess for librarians. Figures.'

'Evelyn is right – the papyrus and the amulet are items of immense power and importance. But,' Ardeth looked at Evelyn severely, 'if they must be destroyed in order to prevent the dark lord from rising, then that is what must happen.'

'Oh… I know.' She sighed. 'But-'

'No! No more buts, that's it!'

Rick sprang to his feet and for a moment he towered over the others. 'We're gonna do what we have to do. I think the world will be happier without a necklace and a bit of paper-'

'It's an amulet-'

'_Whatever_! I don't give a damn what it's called, Evy!'

She folded her arms sulkily and muttered, 'There's no need for that sort of language…'

He let out a carefully controlled breath. 'The world will be better of without that stuff than it will being ruled by a madman, okay? Look, if we can save the stuff we will. Let's just see if we can make it through the night in one piece, shall we? We back here tomorrow and decide what to do, yes?'

'Absolutely.' Jonathan drained his glass and stood up. 'Think I'll turn in. I get the feeling that tomorrow is going to be a very long day.' He stooped and caught Evelyn in a clumsy embrace. 'Good night, old mum. Don't give Rick too hard a time,' he added in a whisper.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek.

Ardeth stood. 'I too will go. I must speak with my people before tomorrow. Goodnight, Jonathan, Evelyn.' He bowed ceremoniously. 'O'Connell.'

Jonathan raised his hand in a vague gesture of farewell as Ardeth's dark figure eased out of the room. 'Well, that's me gone too, I think. Night, Rick.'

Rick grasped Jonathan's hand between both of his. A silent understanding passed between the two.

'Don't have nightmares.'

'Never fear, old man. I haven't had a dream since I was fourteen. It's amazing what Glenmorangie will do for you.'

He turned back when he reached the door, as though memorising the sight. His sister, her eyes and face glowing in the soft lamplight, wrapped in the silk sheen of his robe; and her handsome American standing over her, ready to protect her with his life if necessary. He felt a suspicious prickling behind his eyes and blinked rapidly. Damn whisky making a chap maudlin, he thought, and left.

The door clicked shut and Rick and Evelyn were finally left alone. She looked up at him.

'Are you going to shout at me again?'

'I wasn't shouting at you,' he growled. He shook his head, exhaling loudly. 'Y'know, half the time I want to slap you silly.'

She gave him a crooked little smile. 'What do you want to do to me the other half?'

'Kiss you silly.'

Her smile broadened. 'Sounds like the basis for a perfect relationship.'

He descended on her, holding onto every part of her he could reach and burying his face in her hair.

'You're the bravest person I've ever met, Evy.'

'I wasn't brave.' She touched his face gently. Her eyes were huge and dark. 'I was terrified'

'So was I.' His mouth formed the words, but the voice that came out was not his own.

She took his face in her hands as though memorising every line. She promised herself that she would never be the cause of his pain again. Never.

Her lips were soft and warm and tasted faintly of whisky. But beneath its smokiness was her own, indescribable flavour. He couldn't get enough of it. He remembered the first taste of her lips, under the burning sky in the hell that had been Cairo Prison – he had been craving her ever since.

She let out a soft moan and he pulled back, examining her face in concern.

'Does it hurt?' he asked, his fingers barely touching her battered cheek.

'No, not really,' she answered, unsure how to tell him that her inadvertent exhortation had been one of pleasure, not pain.

Exhaustion was clearly etched into the lines of her face, he realised. She needed sleep and time to mend weary muscles. He informed her of this and an expression of disappointment fell across her face.

Part of her was prepared to argue the point, but she could barely keep her eyes open. It was easier to let Rick raise her to her feet and guide her into her room, his warm hand resting in the hollow of her back.

She slipped Jonathan's robe off and draped it carelessly over a chair. Her eyes moved across her room, lingering over her piles of books and a few choice trinkets from Hamunaptra that she used as decoration. It was wonderful to be back in her own room, with all of her own things. Rick had pulled back the sheets and blankets for her and she crept in gratefully, stretching her weary, aching body on the soft mattress.

Rick pulled the sheets back over her tenderly and then took a step back, watching her. He didn't want to leave her alone for a second, but there were things in his room that he needed to get. If anyone tried to get Evelyn tonight, they would have to go through him first.

She pushed herself up into a sitting position, her eyes heavy.

'Rick, don't go.'

'I'm not going anywhere.'

'No, I mean...' She turned her head away from slightly, feeling her cheeks burning. 'Please just ... just hold me.'

He swallowed hard, not moving. 'Are you sure about that?'

'As long as you take your boots off first.'

She pulled back one corner of the sheet, and patted the empty space on the bed next to her.

Rick sat on the edge, keeping his back to her and started to unlace his boots. His fingers suddenly felt thick and clumsy; he kept losing hold of the laces and swore softly under his breath.

Evelyn played with a strand of her hair, fascinated by the play of muscle and contours in his back and shoulders as he stooped. She reached out and traced the long line of his back with her hand. He stiffened at the touch, suddenly sitting upright and breathing in shakily. Without turning he caught hold of her hand and held it tightly for a moment, caressing the smooth skin with his callused thumb. Eventually he placed her hand gently on the pillow and mounted a successful attack on his boots. With that task accomplished, he turned his attention to the mosquito netting.

Mosquito netting and its ways posed a permanent challenge to Evelyn - it had bested her more than once. So it was with a certain amount of admiration that she watched Rick skilfully arrange the netting around them. He extinguished the lamp beside her bed and the room was plunged into complete darkness. She felt the mattress dip under his weight and then the solid bulk of his warmth next to her.

He felt for her in the darkness and then pulled her soft form into his arms. Evelyn rested her head in the crook of his shoulder, one small hand tucking into the open collar of his shirt. He rubbed her back reassuringly and the simple gesture was both comforting and heartbreaking. She felt her throat tightening and took a deep breath in the effort not to cry.

Rick laid his cheek on top of her head, inhaling the sweet perfume of her hair and marvelling at how it could be so soft. He tried to remember the last time he had felt so good, so complete and came to the conclusion that it was the last time he had held her.

Evelyn pressed herself against him, as though she could draw from him the strength she seemed to be so suddenly lacking. Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness and in the pale light, she could just make out the strong lines of his face. She remembered how he had rode by her side all through the desert, how he had held her after the Medjai had attacked their camp – how he had tried to defend her with everything he had against the immortal power of Imhotep.

The knowledge that someone is prepared to die for you is overwhelming. That another person is capable of so much love for you is even more incredible than the fact that you are prepared to sacrifice yourself for them.

In Evelyn's exhausted brain, this twin knowledge was almost too much to bear. It was only Rick's firm caresses along her back and his soft breath against her face that grounded her. She relaxed her hold on him, turning her face up to his.

'Aren't you going to kiss me goodnight?'

There was a moment's stillness and then she felt a feather-light touch brush her forehead. It was achingly sweet, but it did not dull the ache within her.

'I meant properly.'

'Honey, if I started kissing you now, I wouldn't stop. And I don't think you'd thank me in the morning for where it would lead.'

Where it would lead… She knew perfectly well what he meant; and all of the reasons she had ever thought of not to simply give in to the thing her soul and body ached for appeared to have vanished. His hands had stopped their migration and had come to rest – one in the hollow of her back, the other tangled in her hair.

'I love you,' she murmured, her voice thick with drowsiness. His response was to hold her closer.

It was wonderful to feel her warmth and weight in his arms. Once, the knowledge that a beautiful, willing girl was lying beside him would have been enough. But Evelyn was different, in every conceivable way. What he felt for her was more than wanting her body or a deep romantic love – it was a connection he had no name for. It was not possible to take advantage of her momentary weakness. Holding her like this, feeling her soft skin under his hands, inhaling her perfume, was ecstasy and agony at the same time. He had a feeling that life with Evelyn would be full of such moments.

Rick felt his eyes drifting closed and forced them to open again. She was still in danger and he had a duty to protect her. She had asked him to hold her and he had done that. As soon as he was certain she was asleep, he would get up.

He wouldn't be able to sleep with her so close to him anyway, of that he was certain.

Just a few more minutes and then he would go.

She was making low sighs of pleasure as she nestled against him.

He would definitely get up soon. Definitely.


	14. The Love of my Beloved

Author's Note: This started life as a short, intermediate piece before the all-singing, all-dancing action bits started. However, Evelyn has rather a lot to say for herself. So, here it is: another dose of fluff (which could be seen as an alternative title).

Depending on the feedback I get, we may very well hear something from Mr. O'Connell in the next part (you have been warned…)

Thanks for reading!

Chapter Fourteen: The Love of my Beloved

It takes me a few moments when I awake to remember where I am and what happened last night. The expanse of dull whiteness in front of my eyes is, I think, the walls of that hateful little cabin. But then I realise that it's the mosquito netting and that I am, in fact, back in my own bed, in my own hotel room.

And Rick is not dead.

Nor is he lying next to me.

I fell asleep in his arms last night and I do not believe that I have ever slept more soundly. Even though I know that he is safe I need to find him.

Every part of my body is hurting slightly - to be honest, it isn't exactly painful, just more of a dull ache in my muscles. Every movement takes twice as long and simply sitting up is an achievement in itself. Chin up, Evelyn - forward march. I mount an attack on the mosquito netting, which seems to have increased in volume and been deprived of any form of exit in my absence. I almost tumble head first to the floor, but am able to preserve both my footing and my dignity, but am a little grateful that Rick is not here to witness this. At times like this he laughs at me for ten minutes before finally helping me up. It occurs to me that I am in my night-gown and should really get dressed before I begin a search for my errant fiancé, but I don't care. I need to see him.

I find Rick far more quickly than I anticipated - he is in a chair, near my bed and appears to be fast asleep. He is unshaven and his hair, as ever, is falling across his forehead. The sight of him makes my heart hurt. The day after the Embassy party, Rick told me what had happened; why he had been so unlike himself. He seemed a little embarrassed about telling me; and I felt ashamed of myself for never having realised…

I never really paid that much attention to Winston, but I liked him. Now he is another name on the list of people who died because of Imhotep and that book ... and me. If I had not read it none of those awful things would have happened. I have the most terrible nightmares about it. Sometimes I see their faces in front of me even when I am awake. I wonder if I will always be haunted so. It never occurred to me that it would affect Rick in the same way. I had assumed that because of his profession and that devil-may-care attitude of his that he wouldn't really be bothered by things like that - guilt and so on.

He is beautiful. Rick would laugh at me if I were to say that to him, but it's true. Especially when he is asleep, like now, and he isn't putting on his 'tough-guy' persona. There is something quite fine about the lines of his face. Rick. Richard. Richard the Lionheart. He is certainly courageous; and there is something leonine about his face. I gently run the back of my hand down his cheek, feeling the rough stubble against my knuckles.

He sits bolt upright, grabbing hold of my wrist and producing a gun from some unfathomable recess. I let out an inadvertent squeak of surprise. Well done, Evelyn - the poor man has been frantic, he's spent the night in a chair and you've just nearly scared the life out of him. Fine engagement, this is. His eyes soften when he realises who has woken him so rudely and he relaxes his grip slightly.

'Hey there.'

I bring my other hand up and brush the hair out of his eyes - it is becoming a habitual gesture. 'Good morning.'

Rick pulls me down until I am sitting in his lap. I eye the gun and take hold of the nozzle gingerly, pointing it in a very opposite direction. 'Did you have that thing in my room all night?'

'No, not all night. Just some of the night. Okay, most of the night. But I'm supposed to be protecting you and that's what I'm doing.' He places the gun on the table next to him and then holds me, both arms around my waist. His eyes study my face and I see a muscle in his cheek twitch. He is trying to control the anger, but I know he wants to kill the man who hit me. The bruise looks worse than it is - it hardly hurts at all now, but I don't want to have this conversation. I fiddle with one of his shirt buttons and my fingers brush against the tanned skin revealed by his open collar. He relaxes slightly and when I meet his eyes again he is watching me with a different type of intensity.

'Darling, how long did you sleep in this chair?'

'Dunno. Few hours maybe. Y'know, you're really cute when you call me that.'

Blood rushes to my face until my cheeks are stinging with it. I have never been one for endearments. Despite our closeness, Jonathan and I have tended to express our affection through loving - and frequently not so loving - insults. His favourite names for me are 'brat', 'pest' and the ubiquitous 'old mum'. And yet, somehow, it feels natural to call Rick by a term that proclaims what he is to me. My darling; my beloved. On occasion he has called me "honey" - usually, I am sure he would claim, when he has been distracted and isn't really paying attention to what he is saying. I have never been certain if his use of that expression stems from the fact that Americans tend to be more effusive than the English. I flatter myself that he reserves it solely for my benefit, but is simply too embarrassed at being caught doing anything so un-masculine as calling his fiancée by such a term of affection. I wonder if I have embarrassed him now.

He grins up at me and his eye blaze with emotion. 'Say it again.'

'Darling.'

He kisses me and everything in the world stops.

I wrap my arms tightly around his neck, squeezing him with all the strength I have. He offers no complaint, but his kisses deepen. I can hold him as tightly as I can and it won't hurt him. I actually think he likes it when I do that. Eventually I bury my head in the curve of his neck, inhaling his spicy scent. His hands stroke my back and I can feel his stubble against my forehead. I am so close to him that I swear I can feel his heart beating.

'I love you Rick. So, so much. I can't tell you how much.'

One of his hands cradles the back of my head, his fingers twining through my hair.

'I know, baby. I've been going out of my mind the past twenty-four hours, you know that? Getting ready for the nut house. I thought I might have lost you.'

'I thought... He-he told me you and Jonathan were dead...' I shut my eyes, trying to fight the prickling pressure that has suddenly built behind them. All those hours on that barge I did not weep - I will not start now when there is no reason to. Rick's arms tighten around me, so much so that I can barely breath. I raise my head for air and our eyes meet. For a moment we watch each other before he takes possession of my mouth. I give into him. I want to give into him completely.

Since we got engaged, Rick has made some subtle (admittedly his idea of subtle is about as refined as being hit over the head with a cricket bat) allusions to our sleeping together. I made it very clear that I wish to wait until we are married and since then he has not tried to pressure me.

I don't want to wait.

I don't think I ever really did, but I was clinging to the notion that this is the proper way in which matters are conducted between respectable people. Rick doesn't give a toss about respectability and, I realise belatedly, neither do I. I don't have the words to describe my love for this man. I love him, he is mine and I will give him everything I am. I take his face in my hands and try to think of the words that will not sound crass, nor make me sound utterly wanton.

'Rick, I-'

'Oh for heaven's sake!'

One of these days, I am going to introduce my dear brother to the concept of knocking. He stands in the doorway, turning a delicate shade of pink, and glares at us. I always find it amusing when Jonathan attempts to assume the moral high ground, but at the moment I feel like strangling him. And I am very aware of my scandalous state of undress.

'I thought you were only bloody well watching her!'

'I was. She only just woke up.'

'She is sitting right here, if the pair of you don't mind,' I object indignantly. Or at least as indignantly as I can when one of my straps is falling down my arm and my neckline is plunging in a southerly direction. My face is turning a hue to match Jonathan's. Rick keeps his arms around my waist and I am effectively pinioned to him.

'You said, "just watching". "Oh, Evy's fast asleep, just creeping in here to get my gun," he tells me.' Jonathan snorts in a very unappealing manner. 'Likely bloody story and I don't think. You could have let me know if you'd had anything else planned - would have spared my bloody blushes. Actually, what you really should have done is lock the door.'

Humph. So much for defending his sister's honour.

Jonathan has deposited himself on the corner of my bed and is making himself quite at home. 'We've got a madman running around the desert - the pair of you could at least hold off canoodling until we've bloody well stopped him.'

'Jon, buddy, I think we need to find you a girl. He's just jealous,' Rick adds.

'Ooh. That's it.' I extricate myself with as much grace as possible from Rick's embrace and struggle to my feet. 'Out.'

'See ya later, Jon.'

'_Both_ of you out!' I ignore the wounded look from Rick and fold my arms. 'I have to get dressed and I prefer not to have an audience while I do.'

Neither of them move. In fact they glance at each other as though they know what the other is thinking. I suspect that in my absence their relationship has grown closer than it was before - that may be all well and good for the future, but at the moment I think I preferred it when they were always quarrelling. At least then I always knew that I had one of them on my side. Now I have the distinct impression that they are ganging up on me.

'And what, exactly, do you think you are getting changed for?'

'As Jonathan has pointed out, David is still at liberty. He will try to awaken the Sphinx and unleash the forces of the ancient gods. If we don't stop him, who will?'

We have had almost exactly this conversation before. All they way back from Hamunaptra and then all around Cairo. I have a sudden vision of us, ten years from now, still having the same argument.

'There's no "we" in this, sister - you are staying here.'

_Sister?!?_ Just who does he think he's talking to? There are times when Mr Richard O'Connell is just a little too high handed for his own good. 'I am _not_ staying here.'

'Dammit, Evelyn!' His eyes flash - steel and ice. I hate it when he gets like this.

'Don't think you can stand there and talk to me like that!'

'I'll talk however I damn well like! Jonathan, talk some sense into her will ya.'

Jonathan throws up his hands. 'Don't drag me into it - you're on your own old boy. See that look on her face? I first saw that when she was three years old. Couldn't get her to change her mind then.'

Ha! From accomplice to turncoat in less than ten minutes. If there is one thing you can rely on my brother for, it is inconstancy. He scuttles towards the door and I think I here him mutter "Good luck" to Rick. 'I'll order you up something to eat, old mum. Don't know about you, but I'm famished.'

And then he is gone and I am left alone with six-foot-something of annoyed ex-Legionnaire. Poor man. I can see the frustration and the fear in his eyes. I know that he wants to look after me, but we are supposed to be equals in this relationship. If I give into him now, if I stay behind and sit quietly until this all is over, then it will be all the more difficult to convince him not to leave me behind the next time. And it would end up with him charging around the world and me sitting at home until we didn't know each other any more and he would wonder how he ended up with this dull, parochial little wife; and I would resent him for always leaving me. I never thought of myself as an adventuress, but that is what I have become and that is who he fell in love with.

Rick stares at me for a moment and then, apparently, decides to try a different approach. When he speaks, his voice is gentle.

'Is there even the slightest chance that you're gonna do what I want?'

'Not even the slightest. If you try to leave me behind I will climb out of the window.'

'Knowing you, you'd break you're neck. Actually, you'd probably land on some poor slob who'd break your fall but break _his_ neck.'

He can be insufferable at times, but I am determined to remain calm and rational. I am not going to become hysterical, overwrought, or any of the other things that women are frequently accused of being.

'Well what else are you going to do? Tie me to the bed?'

He gets the strangest look on his face.

'Ooh, don't you dare even think about it!'

'I wasn't until you mentioned it.'

He is smirking now and I have just realised the implications of my previous statement. Not that I would allow that under any circumstances. Not ever. Certainly not whilst I am unmarried.

'Y'know, I always thought that librarians were supposed to be nice quiet girls. Kinda mousy.'

'If you wanted a quiet life, you should have found yourself another girl, Mr O'Connell.'

'Maybe I don't want another girl.' He catches me around the waist and pulls me to him; his voice is a low growl. 'You drive me crazy, you know that?'

'You can be rather infuriating yourself.' I run my hands up his back, enjoying the feel of muscle and bone through the thin fabric of his shirt. He makes a strange purring noise in the back of his throat and kisses me. Or maybe I kiss him.

'Honey, I thought I was gonna lose you,' his voice is urgent in my ear. 'Do you really want to put me through that again?'

'Do you think it would be any easier for me watching you go charging off into danger?'

His hand caresses the back of my neck and he murmurs my name. Just my name. For a moment I almost give in but then I loosen my hold on him and look him severely in the eye. He sighs and strokes my cheek.

'I know, I know. You don't have to say it.'

'I need to get dressed.'

'I could help,' he says hopefully.

I swat his hand away and then hold him at arm's length. 'No! Stop trying to distract me. I'll be ready in time for breakfast.'

'I think you mean lunch.'

'Don't be silly - who eats lunch before breakfast?'

He quirks an eyebrow at me. 'Hey, Sleeping Beauty, it's after twelve. Now, I'm all for cramming as many meals into a day as possible, but in my book, after twelve makes it lunch.'

It cannot be that late. I _never_ sleep that late. Jonathan: yes - me: certainly not. Honestly, you would have thought that one of these men would have been less irresponsible and woken me at a reasonable hour. I should have thought that Rick would know better and I tell him so.

He leans against the door and folds his arms. 'You done yelling at me? Listen, you were exhausted and you needed sleep. Especially if you're insisting on tagging along...' He holds up his hands before I have time to object. 'Okay, you're not tagging. My point is, you need your strength and you need sleep. Yes? I'll see where Jonathan's got to.' Before he actually goes he turns back. 'Evy...' He says it uncertainly, looking deeply into my eyes. Rick has had never actually said "I love you", but he doesn't need words to tell me.

I smile. 'I know.'

He grins sheepishly and shuffles out of my room.

I dress quickly, donning my most practical clothes. A long cotton skirt may have been perfectly serviceable in a library, but it is not the easiest garment to wear in the middle of a desert adventure. A pair of trousers and some sturdy boots will be just the thing for our next venture, I think. Provided we survive this one, of course. I pin my hair up and grimace at my reflection - my cheekbone has an unlovely shade of puce across it, which is tinged with green at the edges. Very attractive. I tended to Rick's assorted injuries when we returned from Hamunaptra and I thought it rather romantic. A bit like one of those romances where the girl bandages her gallant saviour's wounds with a bit of her petticoat. Of course, I did have proper bandages, but the principle is the same. There is nothing even faintly romantic about the bruise on my face. It will fade in time and then, hopefully, Rick will stop feeling murderous on my behalf every time he looks at me. By the time I locate my spare pair of spectacles, there is a heavy knock on my door. I find Rick, Jonathan and our Medjai friend there, along with a few laden trays.

'Lunch in here, old mum. Apparently it's more private, although there does seem to have been an awful lot of traffic through here lately.'

Rick deposits his tray on the table and delivers a blow to the back of Jonathan's head without changing expression. I cheer him on silently, but can't help but wish that they would behave themselves in front of company. God knows what Ardeth must think of us. I smile apologetically and he reveals a set of dazzling white teeth in return.

He does look very impressive with all of those robes swirling about.

Rick certainly looked very dashing in his. Hmm, I wonder if he's kept them? He must have looked lovely in his Legionnaire uniform...

Mind back to work, Evelyn.

Maybe I'll ask him later.

Rick glances in our direction and decides to insert himself into the scene.

'Hey, Ardeth, something I've been wondering about - maybe you can help me out. If there's a whole bunch of you guys out there in the desert to make sure Imhotep stays dead, how come you were only the one who helped us take him down?'

The Egyptian stiffens and draws himself up. For a moment it looks as though he is going to speak, but then he remains silent.

Rick grins evilly.

'Finally something you don't have the answer to, huh? If I had a diary, I'd write this down.'

Insufferable man. I have a feeling that our council of war is going to take a very long time at this rate.


	15. Warriors

Chapter Fifteen: Warriors 

Everyone keeps telling me that David Barton is not going to turn up at the hotel. I do actually know this, but I have to keep checking. Taking myself for patrols around the hotel, just in case. Even I know that, realistically, it's not the most useful thing I could be doing right now.

I could go and give my weapons another check, but the last time I did, Jonathan actually got down on his knees and begged me to stop. Okay, he didn't get down on his knees, but he did beg. So, here I am – on another patrol.

Only I'm disturbing the other guests, apparently. That's probably because I keep glaring at anyone who looks at me sideways, but I don't give a damn if the guests are being disturbed or not. Disturbing. Yeah, great euphemism for 'scaring the hell out of them'. The snooty guy off the reception desk who got sent over to tell me this isn't looking so snooty right now. He talks softly, but his eyes keep flicking around, like he's looking for an escape route. If he thinks I'm scary, it's a good thing he hasn't seen Ardeth and his pals. I let the guy off the hook and tell him I'm going back to my room – this seems to keep him pretty happy and he practically runs back to his desk.

So, back up the stairs I go.

The truth is, another reason for escaping on my patrol duties is Evelyn. When I don't see her, it's easier to be Rick O'Connell: soldier. When I'm with her, I want to grab her and run. Hunker down somewhere until all of this is over.

But the biggest part of me wants to get hold of David Barton and have a little fun. I keep having very colourful fantasies about how much pain I could inflict on him before he actually dies. Before today, I never would have called myself a vindictive guy. Now I'm not so sure. Despite my death threats to Beni, I've never really believed in violence or killing just for the sake of it. But then I look at Evy's face, at what they did to her, and I feel like grabbing hold of the first guy I see and beating the hell out of him. I don't tell her this because I don't want to upset her, but I figure she's pretty much guessed how I feel about it. She keeps telling me she's fine but I don't really buy it.

I didn't mean to go to Evelyn's room, but that's where my feet have taken me. I have to knock twice before I hear her telling me to come in. Naturally, she hasn't locked the door. I could have been anyone. I'm about to explain this to her, but I get kinda side-tracked because, firstly, she'd not paying much attention and, secondly, she's looking gorgeous.

She's got her nose buried in some book (just for a change) and she's got about three pencils jammed into her hair. If you ever need to write something down in a hurry, Evy's your girl. She barely looks up when I enter – it could be taken as a bad sign if you're being ignored in favour of an old book before you're even married, but I'm kinda used to what Evy's like. The world could be coming to an end, but she'd go on reading. And I'm not going to dwell on the fact that by tomorrow the world _could_ be ending. This is me keeping a positive attitude.

'I've been reading up on some articles by the Bembridge scholars…'

Great. Those guys.

'…But they don't really have much on the Sphinx. You would have thought that someone would have investigated it properly by now, wouldn't you?'

I grunt in reply. I have no useful contribution, so I'll keep my comments to myself. Namely how I don't give a damn who wrote what about a big block of stone, just as long as it doesn't wake up and fry everyone in sight. Especially Evy. And me. And I guess Jonathan.

Evelyn finally raises her head, takes off her glasses and looks at me as though she's seeing me for the first time. It makes we want to kiss her stupid, load her into a car, onto a camel or anything else that moves and get out of here.

'What are you thinking about?'

'About kissing you, loading you onto a camel and getting the hell out of here.' Smooth, O'Connell. Real smooth. She gives me one of her looks.

'You know we can't do that. Don't grunt.'

'I wasn't grunting.'

Even though Evy is the reason I want to leave town, she's also the reason why I can't just walk away from this.

Evelyn Carnahan is the bravest person I know. No question. Like when I burst into that cabin last night. Most girls would have been standing there screeching their heads off. Not my Evy. She gets herself a weapon and nearly splits someone's skull open. And she always knows what is the right thing to do, and she does it. No matter what. Stopping the Lunatic of the Week from taking over the world is the right thing to do. I'm still not exactly sure why it has to be us that do it, but it is, so we're staying.

Jonathan suggested knocking her over the head, dumping her in a trunk and taking the next boat out. It's tempting; but as she's already been kidnapped once this week, it doesn't really seem fair.

And it wouldn't be the right thing to do.

'Rick?'

I realise I've been off in my own world for a moment (or more) and Evy looks worried. It's sweet when she worries about me: she starts fussing and I kinda like it. No-one's ever really worried about me before. 'I was just thinking.'

She smiles. Every time she smiles it's like the whole world stops. 'I've been thinking, too.'

'Hey, now _that's_ a surprise.'

'Ooh!'

The glasses have gone back on. It's become like a game we play – she pretends to get annoyed and then I coax her out of it.

I put my arms around her waist and pull her against me. She leans back against my chest and I get a whiff of her perfume. She's wearing this thin white blouse with most of the top buttons undone. From this angle I get a pretty good view of the creamy expanse of her throat and then the swell of her breasts just below the shirt-collar…

Now is not the time to be having dirty thoughts. But it doesn't make it any easier when she sighs like that. Think about something else. Jonathan snoring. Yeah, that should do it. Jonathan and his camel. Jonathan buying camels and Evy in that sheer black dress…

Okay, so that wasn't the best choice.

Evelyn turns around in my arms and looks up at me. Her glasses have slipped down to the end of her nose. I pull them off and she gives me one of those lopsided smiles of hers.

'Isn't there where you're supposed to tell me that I'm beautiful without my glasses?'

'Baby, you'd be beautiful wearing a potato sack.'

She would, too.

'That was very elegantly put, darling.'

'Hey, if you want grand speeches you better read one of your romance novels.'

She turns very pink.

'Ooh! I do _not_ read romance novels!'

'Actually, Jonathan said…'

And I just remembered that when Jonathan told me that Evy likes those soppy books (when she's not reading the 'raise-people-from-the-dead' books, that is) he also made me promise not to tell her he knew about it.

'Jonathan said what?'

'He, er, he said that… Er, all girls … like romantic novels. Obviously, he was wrong.'

Y'know, that even sounds like something Jonathan might really say.

Evy rolls her eyes. 'My brother the ladies' man. You would have thought that after living with a woman for all this time, he'd actually know something about us.'

She's cute when she's indignant. Especially when she's indignant about something she's done and is trying to pretend that she hasn't. I get hold of her again. Her waist is tiny under my hands.

'Miss Carnahan, you're beautiful without your glasses.'

That has to be about the corniest line I have ever come out with; but it seems to have the desired effect, because neither of us speak for the next few moments.

I let her go in the end and dump myself on the sofa. Evelyn tells me I'm brooding. I tell her I'm not, probably more emphatically than I should, so she sticks her nose back in her book and sulks.

I'm not brooding, I'm just thinking. Okay, I'm worrying. Tomorrow morning we go up against a crazy would-be ruler of the world, possibly a god and, potentially, the army of the undead (because that was so much fun the last time).

And then we have the good guys.

Evy can handle herself pretty well – she's a lot stronger than she looks. But even so, she's not exactly an Amazon.

As for Jonathan… Well, if you're scared of sarcasm, then he's absolutely terrifying, but apart from that… He is a good shot, though. At least, that's what he tells me. If it wasn't for Ardeth and his gang, I'd be seriously worried right about now.

Our plan, such as it is, is to watch and wait. After the hours of sitting and discussing what we should do, we all had to accept the fact that our options are extremely limited.

And when I say, 'extremely limited', what I mean is that we have no options. Nothing, nada, zip.

All we know is that tomorrow at sunrise, David Barton will in the vicinity of the Sphinx.

At least, we assume he'll be in the vicinity of the Sphinx. If his little ritual means that you've got to be in Karnak in order to wake up a demon in Giza, then we are in serious trouble.

But I'm going to look on what is – I guess – the bright side and assume that he'll be where we think he'll be.

And that 'we' includes Evy.

'You know how to fire a gun, don't you?'

She looks at me like I've gone crazy.

'Of course I know how to fire a gun.' Her hands start fidgeting with the pages and she moves almost to the other side of the room. 'What a ridiculous… Why on earth are you asking that?'

'Because I need to make sure that you know how to defend yourself.' I pull out a gun and she flinches. 'Show me.'

'My father taught me, Rick. You can take my word for it.'

I know she doesn't like guns, but I'm not backing down on this one. Otherwise I really will knock her over the head.

'Quit stalling, Evy. If you know how to use this, show me.'

She puts her book down, folds her arms and glares at me.

Oh boy. The battle of wills. I'm not gonna start threatening her or coaxing her because that's just treating her like an idiot, which she isn't. Evelyn needs to understand that I am serious about this.

'Evy, listen to me. I don't know what's going to happen tomorrow. We can guess what we're gonna face, but we don't know.'

She doesn't say anything, which either means that she's listening, or is about take my head off in the next ten seconds. I keep going.

'I can't be sure that someone will be with you the whole time. And if there isn't, you need to be able to protect yourself. If not, you could be killed, or someone else could be killed trying to save you.'

Her head jerks. 'That isn't fair,' she says softly.

'Maybe not, but it's also true. Now come here.'

It was a low blow, but we don't have the time for me to start feeling bad about it. At least it's got Evelyn back across the room and she takes the gun from me.

Her fingers fumble over the catch at first, but she knows what she's doing. I adjust the position of her hands and then make sure she can take aim properly. Her body is rigid, but she does everything I tell her. I think this is the longest I've ever heard her silent.

I tell her to keep the gun when she tries to give it back to me. I half-expect her to put it in a drawer or something, but she puts it on top of her books.

'I don't want to kill anyone, Rick,' she says eventually. 'But I don't want you to worry. If it comes to it, I'll do what I have to. And I won't miss.'

Her eyes are hard for a moment and then she looks down at the floor again.

_'I may not be an explorer, or an adventurer, or a treasure-seeker, or a gunfighter, _Mister_ O'Connell...'_

'You never really wanted this life, did you? All of this, I mean - guns and stuff.'

She frowns over this for a while. 'Isn't it the life you wanted?'

I shrug. 'It's the life I ended up with.'

'But you were a soldier.'

'I wasn't always a soldier. I ran away from home and joined the circus.'

Evy goes all stiff and turns away. 'Well, if you're going to be like that...'

I can't help but laugh. 'I'm not being like anything, honey. I left home and in the next town there was a travelling circus, so I joined it.'

'Really?'

'Straight up.'

She stares at me and then her lips start to twitch.

'What?'

'I-I'm just trying to imagine you...' She's giggling so hard she's turned pink. '...With a red n-nose and ... big feet!'

'I was not a clown, Evy.'

She's almost crying with laughter. I guess I could feel offended, but I'd rather see her laughing than upset. And I guess it's more from tension than actually laughing at me. I prefer to think it's that, anyway.

'There were no cream pies in my face, I can tell you. I did a bit of acrobatics and I did some stuff with a snake-charmer.'

That stops her laughing.

'Snakes are terribly poisonous, Rick. They can kill you.'

I grin at her. 'Only if they bite you. Throw a snake my way and I'll charm the fangs off it.'

Evy makes a face. 'Lovely. But... But didn't you enjoy being a soldier?'

Great, we're back to that. We've never really had this conversation before and I don't want to have it now; but Evelyn's asked the question, so I might as well just tell her.

Did I enjoy being a soldier? Being ordered around by officers who were either too stupid or too scared to do their jobs properly; fighting people I didn't know for reasons I didn't understand; endless marching across the desert; food you wouldn't give a camel...

'No, I didn't.'

'Then why did you join the army?'

Again, I shrug. 'I was desperate and starving. I was practically living on the street. Then I met some guy who was recruiting for the Legion - he promised a bowl of stew if I joined up. I got the stew and they even threw in a bit of bread, so I thought it was a pretty good deal at the time.'

Her eyes are wide. 'That's awful!'

Evelyn faces up to so much I forget how little she's seen of the world. My story is no worse than a lot of other people's, but Evy's looking at me like it's the worst thing she's ever heard.

'That's just the way it was. And now it's over.' It all seems so long ago now that I hardly remember how things used to be. These days I actually have a future worth fighting for.

'But don't you still want adventures?' She looks like she's got some nightmare image of me with my feet up, a cardigan and a pipe.

'I'm marrying you, aren't I?'

Her eyes narrow. 'Oooh!'

Okay, I deserved that one. But if you ask a dumb question...

The sun is low in the sky, the shadows are lengthening across the floor and pretty soon the muezzin will start the calls from the minarets. Which means it's time for us to get going.

'I'm gonna go get Jonathan.'

'Rick, promise me something.'

I wait. 'Yeah?'

'You will be careful, won't you?'

'Honey, it's just Jonathan - unless I have to fight him for a whisky bottle, I think I'll be okay.'

She clucks at me. Evy really hates it if you tease her when she's trying to be serious. Evelyn Carnahan, the living, breathing eye of the storm, asking me to be careful. 'You _know_ what I mean. If you let anything happen to you, I swear I'll bloody kill you myself.'

'And to think that's the mouth you kiss me with.'

'You said far worse to me the first time we met.'

'Hey, I was about to be hanged – I was allowed,' I protest. I get one of her looks again – another thing I'll have to get used to. 'Okay, okay, I promise. Happy now?'

Apparently not.

'Well you needn't sound so enthusiastic about it! Oh, just go and find Jonathan.'

I close the door and leave her fuming on the other side.

Women! Can't live with them… That pretty much covers it.

I find Jonathan in our room, drinking something out of a cup. He takes one look at me and smirks.

'I'd suggest a cup of tea, old boy.'

I take the cup he holds out to me and drink it. 'Jeez, what the hell is that?'

'Tea.'

I've never actually drunk dishwater, but I'll bet that it tastes exactly like that. Why anyone would drink it for fun is beyond me. 'I thought when you said 'tea', it was just a disguise for something else.'

'Oh no. For this particular enterprise, one needs a clear head. And I'll have you know that the British Empire has been built on the restorative properties of tea. It is our national drink.'

He raises his cup and I expect him to burst into song. Thankfully, he just drains whatever was left.

'National drink, huh? That could explain a lot.'

He mutters something that sounds like 'Damn Yanks'. As I've just done ten rounds with his sister, I don't call him on it.

'So, you ready to save the world, Jon buddy?'

He grimaces and I swear he goes pale under his tan. 'God, ready as I'll ever bloody be. You know, Rick, I'm sure that you don't really need me hanging about tomorrow. I'd just be in the-'

'You're coming.'

'Yes, of course.'

From somewhere across the city, the first call goes up from a minaret.


	16. Never a Dull Moment

Author's Note: Right, in response to some queries about the previous chapter:

A minaret is part of a mosque – it is the tower, usually with a balcony, from where the muezzin call the Muslim worshippers to prayer.

Once again, I apologise for any inaccuracies in the description of Egyptian legends or of the physical reality of the actual sites. For the purposes of the story, I plead dramatic licence!

As always, thank you to my readers – you are the best! And after Belphegor's generous plug of this work, I am honoured to provide a similar service: her story is called _Fairy Tales and Hokum_, is available on this web site and is fantastic – so go read it!

Chapter Sixteen: Never a Dull Moment

The night had been clear and cloudless. The stars, as hard and bright as diamonds, shone steadily overhead; and against this magnificent vista, the silent bulk of the Sphinx stood in bold relief. And behind the Sphinx itself loomed that monument of the lost kingdom of Egypt - the mighty pyramid.

However, the sky had started to lighten and the stars had lost some of their brilliance. The ebony blackness of the monuments had faded to a chalky grey. Evelyn gazed up at the structures and shivered. She felt cramped and cold. By night, Cairo seemed to retain some of the heat of the day; out here on the barren plateau, the air was significantly cooler. Evelyn wrapped her arms around herself and thought longingly of the clean sheets and soft bed back at her room in the hotel. A small snore from behind caused her to look over her shoulder and she rolled her eyes at the sight that greeted her.

Jonathan had wedged himself against the rock wall, his mouth was hanging open and his head was nodding over the rifle he clutched. Evelyn unfolded herself, leaned across and poked him in the ribs. He snorted, spluttered and jerked up, cracking his head against a stone protuberance.

He rubbed the back of his head and glared at her. 'I say old mum, what the hell was that for?'

'We're supposed to be keeping watch, remember?' she replied in a piercing whisper.

'We're supposed to be keeping watch in silence,' another voice broke in, so quietly it could barely be heard. By night, under the open desert sky, Ardeth's stern face bore more resemblance to his ancient forebears than ever.

Evelyn and Jonathan exchanged guilty looks, both feeling as though they were back at school, being reprimanded by a kindly yet authoritarian headmaster.

Ardeth moved forward, making no sound and settled himself near Evelyn. 'How do you feel now, Seshat?' he asked, evidently pleased with his new nickname for her.

She smiled and tried to match her tone to his barely audible words. 'Strange. I keep going hot and cold – it's like ice and fire chasing each other through my veins.' She sighed, her eyes straying back to the Sphinx, trying to make out any sign of movement at the base. As a child she had, like countless others, been fascinated by the Sphinx: the romance and the mystery of the kingdoms that had risen and fallen, the millennia that had passed under its impassive gaze.

'It is the waiting,' Ardeth responded. 'This is always the worst time, but it will be over soon enough. One way or another.'

Jonathan had joined them at the edge of the ridge and raised an eyebrow as he caught Ardeth's last words. 'Are you sure you're not related to O'Connell? You both have something of the doom sayer about you, you know.' He squinted into the dense shadows at the base of the Sphinx. 'I wonder how he's getting on down there.'

* * *

Rick was all too familiar with the sensation of waiting. His body was tensed and ready, his senses alert, but he felt generally relaxed. Too much stress and tension led to exhaustion; too much relaxation to slackness – a balance between the two was the desired state for a functional soldier. At the moment, Rick was aware of the steady beat of his own heart, and every sound coming from the desolate surrounds.

His Medjai companions were, like himself, seasoned fighters. There had been little conversation – a few whispered words in Arabic and the silent sharing of a water canteen had cemented their comradeship. When you're fighting on the same side, it takes little to bind you together. For their part, the Medjai observed Rick with something approaching awe. He had defeated the Creature and returned the City of the Dead to its resting place beneath the sands. This admiration had also been extended to Jonathan – as another of the triumphant warriors – and to Evy: amongst the Medjai, she was spoken of as a learned and dangerous woman; a powerful sorceress with the ability to control the sacred books.

Despite their apprehension at what the dawn would bring, the Medjai felt that with such allies – and the blessings of Allah – they could not fail to be victorious.

Rick, blissfully unaware of their expectations of his abilities, was not allowing himself to consider the possible outcome.

He started slightly when a hand touched his shoulder. It was, however, merely one of the Medjai. He took the water canteen he was offered and took a few moderate sips, watching his young companion who went by the name of Mansour. It was the only thing Rick had learnt about him. It was difficult to judge the ages of these desert dwellers, but Rick guessed that he was little more than a boy – eighteen or nineteen at the most. For his people, he was a man and in the depths of his impassive eyes, Rick saw barely a flicker of fear. He replaced the cap on the canteen and handed it back to the young man before settling himself back against the hard stone of his post.

Evelyn had objected, vociferously, to being stationed on the ridge instead of down in the enclosure with Rick. He had explained with weary monotony that as they had no idea which direction Barton would approach from, they needed to cover all of the immediate area. There was no telling who would be in the greatest danger. He felt reasonably assured by the fact that Ardeth and Jonathan were with her, but hoped that any attack would be mounted against his own side of the Sphinx.

When they had first arrived at the site the party had conducted a thorough search, including the two temples that lay at the feet of the massive statue. There had been nothing to find and so they had separated and settled themselves in their posts. The night had past peacefully, but as the sky began to lighten, Rick felt his body tighten with apprehension. Dawn was rapidly approaching - if anything was going to happen, it would have to happen soon.

* * *

There was a movement further out on the plateau, moving toward the area of the Sphinx. Ardeth's eyes were accustomed to the desert at night, but even so he strained them in the effort to see what it was. The dark mass was moving quickly and as it came closer, it separated into smaller objects.

Jonathan, leaning close beside Ardeth, heard him mutter an invocation to Allah under his breath and turned his head suspiciously. 'What? What do you see?'

Ardeth made no answer, still staring across the sand.

Jonathan screwed up his eyes and then swore softly. He turned to his sister. 'You know that cheery tale you and Ardeth have been regaling us with?'

She watched him wordlessly, waiting.

'Remember what old Seth's chums turned themselves into?'

'Crocodiles.'

He nodded. 'I think they're making a return visit.'

* * *

Rick gripped the handle of his gun firmly, his hands nervy yet strong, and watched the approaching creatures. Their pale bulbous eyes gleamed weirdly in the dim light and the leathery skin of their heavy tails scraped rhythmically as they swarmed towards the monument. Their speed was unnatural. A crocodile may spend some time on dry land, but its preferred habitat is water where, despite its bulk, it moves with surprising agility.

The absence of water did nothing to hinder these vicious reptiles. It seemed only a few minutes from their initial sighting until now, when the men could hear the low growling from their throats and feel the sand stinging their faces as it was churned up under the relentless march of the crocodiles' feet.

The stench they brought with them was of fetid water, decay and death. And in the pale flicker of their eyes, the gaping jaws displaying rows of jagged teeth, and the slow deliberate movements of their heads, there was an insidious, pervading evil. It fell like a pall over the enclosure and for a moment, the living humans were all paralysed by it. Of all the possibilities they had considered and discussed, this had not been one of them. In those agonising moments, they became aware of how unprepared for this particular fight they were.

The snapping of teeth – far too close for comfort – roused Rick. In one motion, he retrieved a stick of dynamite, struck a match against the sandstone and threw into the advancing swarm. He watched the result grimly and remembered a favourite quote from one of his former comrades in the Legion: 'Outside of a dog, a stick of dynamite is a man's best friend.'

The blast cleared Ardeth's head. He unsheathed his scimitar, its blade glimmering dully, and grasped the hilt between both hands. 'Stay here,' he admonished them curtly.

He plunged down the ridge, his feet slipping on the uneven surface, but he retained his footing and plunged into the advancing army of reptiles, hacking at them with an unearthly yell.

Evelyn staggered to her feet - her eyes searching for the golden-haired figure on the plain below - ready to follow Ardeth down the steep incline. Until Jonathan grabbed hold of her wrist and pulled her back to the ground.

'For God's sake, girl, will you bloody do as you're told for once in your bloody life?' He ignored the ominous flash of her eyes and let go of her wrist, he gripped her shoulder instead and shook her. 'Use your head. Now make yourself useful and hand me those cartridges.'

He propped himself up on his elbows, taking careful aim along the sights of his rifle and fired.

'Ha, that's one in the bag! Right between the eyes, my beauty!'

* * *

Ardeth placed one booted foot on the creature's head and pulled his sword out of its neck. He gazed distastefully at the thick dark blood dripping from the blade. Whether these beasts had made the journey from the river to this site, or had simply risen from beneath the sand, Ardeth neither knew nor cared. Crocodiles, he was well aware, had been held as sacred creatures by the Ancients. He had been taught that all beings living on earth and under the benevolence of Allah held a place in the cycle of life. Despite this careful tutelage, no one had ever been ever to explain to his satisfaction exactly what the beneficial purposes of a crocodile might be. In other words, he hated them.

* * *

These sentiments were shared by Rick O'Connell.

His last stick of dynamite remained unlit - another blast would kill the Medjai along with the crocodiles. He jammed the stick back into its holder and pulled out another gun. The sand was churned up by the ferocious struggle around him, the grains stinging his face and filling his eyes. He fired almost blindly at the lumbering mass approaching him. The bullet clipped the crocodile's leathery hide and it let out a low growl of anger.

It reared up, its teeth snapping.

Rick stumbled backwards. His feet slipped in the soft sand and he felt his ankle twist under him. He fell, his gun discharging uselessly into the air, and sprawled on his back in the dust. The crocodile landed over him, its heavy tail crushing his legs, pinning him to the ground. One of its claws was squarely on his left arm - he could feel the bones grinding together under the creature's weight and gritted his teeth against the pain. Rick placed the muzzle of his other gun against its head and squeezed the trigger.

Nothing.

Only a loud click. He was out of bullets.

The hideous mouth opened and he could feel the crocodile's foul breath against his face. Its eyes flickered and he could have sworn that the thing was laughing at him. The creature was evidently set on playing with its catch before it killed him.

'Not if I have my way, you ugly son-of-a-bitch,' he informed it. 'You're too ugly to live.'

He twisted suddenly, jerking his head away as the yellow teeth snapped together inches from his head. He retrieved his stick of dynamite and, with all the strength he could find, jammed it into the crocodile's eye. It roared in agony, but did not relinquish its hold on him. Its tail lashed the ground, creating a sandstorm around them. Rick's hand flailed uselessly on the ground, searching for anything else that could do duty as a weapon - a stone, a stick, anything...

The creature's shrieking roar suddenly ended and Rick felt something warm and sticky spray across his face. There was a moment's stillness; and then the crocodile collapsed on top of him. The massive body convulsed once and then lay motionless. Rick, crushed under the weight, gasped for breath.

The load was levered off him and Rick squirmed out from underneath, taking great breaths when he was finally free. Still lying on his back, he looked up at the figure standing over him.

Mansour gazed solemnly down at the American and then held out a hand. Rick grasped it and was grateful to find himself still standing when the young Medjai let go of him.

'Thanks. Looks like I owe you one.'

Mansour smiled slightly but shook his head. 'No, it is my honour to serve you. And my duty.'

Rick rolled his eyes. 'Let me guess – Ardeth set you that little task, huh?'

Before the younger man could reply, Rick retrieved a loaded gun and fired - apparently without bothering to take aim. Mansour barely flinched as the bullet narrowly missed him but then turned and coolly observed the dead crocodile that had fallen near his feet.

Rick looked around and saw the all too familiar signs of a desert battle. Sand and blood. And then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw something else.

* * *

From her more elevated position on the ridge above, Evelyn had a clearer view of what was happening in the enclosure. The battle was raging on all sides of the Sphinx. Except for one area - a clear path that led directly to the temple that lay directly between the Sphinx's two massive paws. The crocodiles - vicious and predatory though they were - had driven the Medjai back to either side of this one narrow stretch of sand.

And she saw a man hurrying along that path, his white robes clearly illumined by the sun...

Evelyn felt her stomach lurch. The sun - yes, the first pale rays were streaking the steel-grey sky.

The yells and snarls from below, the sharp retort of Jonathan's rifle, suddenly seemed muffled. Everything slowed, as though she were watching a reel of film that was spinning at half speed. Rick must have seen David Barton entering the temple as well, she realised: she saw his tall frame scramble up one of the statue's reclining front legs and run along it before taking a flying leap off the end – it was the quickest way to the temple. She caught her breath as he landed, only exhaling when he stood.

And then time resumed its normal course.

Rick was too late to intercept Barton, but she saw him follow the Englishman into the temple.

The Medjai were still grappling with their reptilian assailants, but Rick was alone with their true foe. The real danger lay inside the temple. And the sun's rays were starting their inexorable journey across the landscape towards the sightless gaze of the sleeping, stone-encased demon.

Too late Jonathan realised that his sister had sprung up and had started on an erratic path down to the enclosure. He grabbed at her, but his hand closed on empty air.

'That damn bloody stupid…' The rest of the insult was lost in a roar of wordless anger and frustration.

Evelyn half-ran, half-slithered down the stony incline, her feet slipping on the uneven ground. Jonathan reloaded his rifle and raised it, tracking her progress and blasting anything inhuman that came anywhere near her. He sent up a silent prayer for steady hands, trusting to skill and the powers that be that he wouldn't hit her.

Evelyn ignored the carnage around her. On the fringes of her vision she was aware of a maelstrom of black robes, flashing blades and bared teeth. She heard the unearthly growls and heavy feet of the crocodiles but paid little attention. The gun that Rick had insisted she keep was in her pocket and its unfamiliar weight bounced against her thigh as she ran.

She tripped over something and staggered, almost falling, but somehow managed to keep her balance. For the first time she looked back and saw a pair of cold yellow eyes blink at her. Evelyn turned and kept running.

Ardeth, his robes stained with blood and other noxious substances saw her flight. He yelled instructions to his warriors and started across the rocky ground, wielding his blade and felling the remaining beasts in his path.

Her lungs were burning with the exertion, but she reached her goal. Evelyn's heart was thundering painfully in her chest, but her hand was steady as she pulled out the loaded gun – its butt fitting surprisingly well in her small hand. She moved towards the mouth of the temple, but was immediately driven back. She stared in horror.

From the floor to the ceiling, the entrance was blocked by a wall of flame. There was no way in, no way out.


	17. The Eye of Horus

Author's Note: Okay – one more chapter after this one and then that's it! Hope that you enjoy the penultimate installment.

Chapter Seventeen: The Eye of Horus

I. The Curse Has Come Upon Me

In the assorted campaigns that he had been involved with when in the Legion, Rick had been motivated by the promise of rewards at the end of it and the fact that he had nothing else to do. Now, his driving forces were more varied: anger, fear of what would happen if he failed and an overriding desire to protect – not just the people he had come to care for, but for all the others who would suffer if the might of the ancient gods was unleashed.

However, Rick was no longer thinking at this stage. He knew his enemy, he knew his location and all that was left was to destroy him. By any means necessary.

The mouth of the temple was a dark hole in the crumbling stone façade, but Rick's eyes, accustomed to the half-light, easily found Barton. Admittedly, his white djellaba made him difficult to miss, but then Rick realised that it was another source of light that illuminated Barton's figure. The man was stooping over something on the ground and then he stood as flames started to lick along the bottom of the entrance.

Rick didn't break his stride as he ran towards the temple. If he could reach it before the fire had climbed too high…

_'Great. Here we go again,' _he thought, launching himself into the air. He felt the heat of the flames, heard their crackle beneath him.

Rick landed hard. But he was prepared – he broke the fall with a shoulder roll and the momentum propelled him to his feet. He glanced back at the flames that stretched across the wall, blocking both the temple entrances.

'Neat trick. What is that, your party piece?'

He proceeded cautiously over the stony ground. There was little left of the Sphinx Temple. Gaping niches in the walls bore testimony to the previous presence of devotional statues, long since pillaged; and the ground was littered with fallen stone blocks, denuded of their granite cladding. Most of the roof had fallen in, but in places there was still cover and in these recesses the shadows were dense and dark.

'You could rent yourself out to children's parties – I hear some folks will pay good money to any second rate magician that shows up.'

'You know you really do overrate the charm of your sense of humour.'

Rick's eyes narrowed. The voice and a flash of white - picked out by the rays of the pallid dawn sun - pinpointed Barton's location. No matter how smart the guy, they always rose to the bait of the most stupid insults. That had been Rick's experience and he smiled sourly at the knowledge that Barton was no exception.

There was no point in attempting to hide himself in the shadows of the recesses as Barton had done – in the first place, his dramatic entry had made him too conspicuous for concealment now; and secondly, he needed to get to Barton sooner rather than later. He stepped out from the colonnade into the courtyard, aware that he was leaving himself exposed, with little hope of back up.

The open-air courtyard afforded a spectacular view of the Sphinx. At least, it should have been spectacular. Under the present circumstances, the looming presence inspired ominous feelings of dread.

'Magnificent, isn't it?'

'You'll have to excuse me for not being its biggest fan right now,' Rick responded drily.

'Oh come, come, Mr O'Connell!' Barton chided mockingly. The sound grated on Rick's nerves. 'The Sphinx is practically the symbol of Egypt. I am restoring the glory of bygone days to this land.'

Rick paused, cocking his head. 'Restoring the glory days?'

'Egypt has been pillaged for centuries. Her treasures stolen, her might diminished, her people cowed. I will put an end to all that. After this day-'

'Cut the crap.' Rick resumed his approach. 'You're not doing this for the sake of Egypt, her people or anything else. You know it and I know it. Let's stop the games and finish this, shall we?'

Barton observed the man moving towards him. His shirt was torn and stained with a dark, viscous substance. A similar smear was streaked across one of his cheeks and he seemed to be covered in a fine layer of dust. He was armed, but alone. Not the most fearsome adversary, especially when compared with what Barton was preparing to face. And _this_ was what Evelyn wanted. He had chosen her, above every other woman, to be his queen. His goddess. And she had abandoned him, betrayed him, for _this_? Soon, however, she would beg for his mercy.

He smiled to himself at the thought. Evelyn, so proud, so regal, grovelling for his forgiveness... And then she would be grateful when he spared her life.

If he spared her life.

There were thousands of women in the world - millions; any one of them would be honoured to be at his side.

Barton looked contemptuously at his rival. Evelyn had already proved herself unworthy of his devotion - as a god, it would be beneath him to concern himself with her fate.

He stepped out into the open, prepared to meet his enemy and his destiny.

For a moment, the two men faced each other.

The blows came quick and hard. Two jabs with his left hand and then straight in with his right. There was a sickening crunch as Rick's fist connected with his nose, the bone and cartilage fracturing under the onslaught. Barton staggered back, driven across the courtyard. The blood poured from his nose and mouth and he wiped his face with his sleeve. He stared at the vivid red against the white fabric.

Rick raised an eyebrow and calmly stalked towards him. 'Y'know, I'd rethink my position if I were you. I mean, I'm just me - a regular guy - and I was able to do that to you without breaking a sweat. So what do you think a god is going to do to you?'

Barton leaned against a standing monolith, breathing hard. 'There are different types of strength, O'Connell. Don't presume to think that you know anything about me.'

'I know all I need to.' Rick's teeth were gritted, one hand curling into a fist at his side. 'The kind of guy who gets his kicks slapping girls around…'

Barton shook his head. 'I never laid a hand on Evelyn-'

'I don't care if you actually hit her or not – you're responsible.' His stance relaxed, his shoulders dropping. Somehow, the calm that descended over him now was more threatening than his overt hostility. 'But that's personal.' His voice was as hard as steel. 'That's personal; and there'll be plenty of time for that later. We've got some other business to take care of first.'

Barton straightened up, pushing himself away from the pillar. He was unsteady on his feet and his tall figure swayed slightly as he spoke. 'I suppose that this is where you tell me that I'd be better off conceding defeat and then I follow you meekly out of here?'

'What, and spoil all my fun? But it would save a lot of time.'

He laughed at this. His bared teeth were stained red with his own blood. 'Your naïveté is almost endearing. You can't stop something that's already started.' The Englishman's lips curled into a hideous bloodstained rictus. 'Once the amulet has crossed the sacred seal the cycle is begun. Your efforts, though commendable, are too late.'

Rick looked down to where Barton was pointing. There, on what remained of the alabaster flooring, the rays of the equinoctial sun were picking out lines that formed a familiar shape. The Eye of Horus.

Rick raised his eyes and felt a cold lump settle in the pit of his stomach. The amulet around Barton's neck had started to glow.

The air had become heavier. Thick and hot the way it does before a storm.

And then everything shook. A deep, low rumble in the earth. Bone-shaking, teeth-jolting shaking. Evelyn grabbed hold of Ardeth's arm and the two of them pressed themselves against one of the monoliths of the temple wall for support. The tremors wracked her, leaving her breathless and her heart thundering. Debris fell around them and Evelyn shut her eyes tightly against the stinging sand.

The tremor died away, the reverberations still tangible deep in the earth. Ardeth, his arm still around Evelyn's shoulders protectively, raised his head. A small commotion behind attracted his attention.

Once he had run out of bullets, Jonathan had followed Evelyn down the ridge and across the barren plain to the Sphinx. He had been thrown to the ground when the tremor hit and now, having struggled to his feet, was engaged in fighting off one of the last of the massive reptilian assailants. As he could no longer shoot it, he had resorted to hitting it repeatedly over the head with the butt of his rifle.

'Will – you – just … bloody _die_!' His words came out in a staccato roar.

The creature flailed in the sand and then lay still. Whether stunned or dead, Jonathan did not pause to discover; still clutching the rifle, he ran towards his sister and the Medjai. He was still running full tilt when he reached them, the solid outer wall of the temple providing a stopping point as he slammed into it.

'Damn, same bloody shoulder,' he muttered, rubbing it. 'Nearly had it dislocated by Mr. America himself the other day...' His complaint subsided to a low mutter.

Evelyn squirmed out of Ardeth's hold and was about to return to the temple's entrance when another tremor gripped the land. She pressed herself against the stone wall, clawing at the uneven surface to find a handhold.

From somewhere around them came another sound. A great creaking, grinding, as though something long disused was finally moving again. Evelyn looked around and then looked up.

'Oh … oh God. Its eyes…'

The two men followed her gaze.

'Allah preserve us,' Ardeth murmured.

The mighty Sphinx, _Abu Khawl_ – Father of Terror, was awakening.

Evelyn felt paralysed. Her brain was instructing her legs to move, but the orders were lost somewhere along the line. She clung to her happy little piece of rock, desperately trying to stop her knees from buckling under her.

A few paces away, Jonathan also stared up, mesmerised. Despite all of the impossible realities he had witnessed during their recent encounter with Imhotep, Jonathan still felt entirely overwhelmed by the enormity of what was about to happen. If the God he had been brought up to believe in was real, and the ancient Egyptian gods were also real, would his God step in to save them? He wasn't certain that he wanted to see the outcome of the great cosmic game of 'My God is Bigger Than Your God'. Unless, of course, all the gods were just the same thing. He didn't want to see the outcome of that, either. He shut his eyes, as though reverting to the childhood belief that if you couldn't see something, it didn't exist. Jonathan took a deep breath and opened his eyes. Dammit. The hitherto sightless eyes of the Sphinx were still burning with an unearthly golden light.

Evelyn tore her gaze away and, with a superhuman effort, forced herself to move. Her legs still felt shaky, but she made her way back to the entrance. The fire was raging, but it seemed that their intensity had dimmed slightly. She approached cautiously, raising one hand to shield her face against the heat and peered through the flames.

'Nice necklace,' Rick commented, eyeing the gleaming prize warily. 'Where's the papyrus?'

'Surplus to my requirements at the moment. It told me all I needed to know.' His green eyes glittered in the supernatural light. 'So, Evelyn told you about that, did she? Something else I'll have to have a little conversation with her about, later...'

The second attack was as swift as the first. Rick's punch caught Barton in the stomach and the Englishman doubled over. The fruitless blow he aimed at his assailant was easily deflected.

The precious amulet still hung tantalisingly from his neck – with every passing second its luminosity increased to a deep pulsating blue and glowing orange. Rick grabbed hold of Barton's arm and wrenched it painfully, leaving the man's chest exposed. With his free hand, he reached for the amulet.

The shock ripped through him.

The force was so great that it lifted him off his feet and he barely had time to realise that he was in the air before he saw the ground rushing towards him. In those tortuous seconds he realised that his heart had stopped beating.

He hit the ground, the landing jarring him, but he felt his chest heave painfully before his heart resumed its pounding. From somewhere, he heard a voice calling his name.

Rick pushed himself up – he had been thrown almost the length of the temple and was lying near one of the entrances.

'Rick!'

He turned his head. Through the shimmering wall of fire he could make out a familiar form. Evelyn.

'Rick – get the amulet!'

'What do you think I'm trying to do?' he growled back.

'Are you all right?'

Rick remained still for a moment, waiting for the feel of any broken bones, but – miraculously – he seemed to be in one piece. But there was something missing. His holster was empty. At some point when he was in the air, it must have fallen out. He swore inwardly, but then got to his feet and shook his head sharply to clear it. 'Never felt better. The amulet…' He looked over his shoulder. Barton was the predator now – slowly walking across the courtyard towards the central seal. The glowing stones were now almost blindingly bright; the gold that held them was burning with a white heat. 'I can't even touch the damn thing, Evy.'

He moved as close to the entrance as he could. Even through the dividing flames, he could see that her face was streaked with soot and dust. Locks of hair were clinging to her neck and forehead.

'You should get out of here,' he said quietly.

She stared back at him.

'Did you hear what I said?'

'No.'

'I said-'

'Yes, I heard what you said; no, I am not leaving you.'

Rick breathed heavily, his lips pressed together. He didn't want to tell her he had failed. 'I'm out of bullets and out of options, Evy. Go. Please.'

Her eyes flickered from him to the shimmering white figure behind and then back again. 'Get him to come a bit closer.'

Jonathan followed his sister's path to the entrance and then froze when he saw her. She had the gun in her hand, raised, obviously taking careful aim.

'Evy, what the hell do you think you're doing?'

'I just need one clear shot,' she murmured, as though she hadn't really heard him but was just thinking aloud.

He walked towards her and placed a restraining hand on her wrist. 'Evy-'

Her head snapped around and Jonathan felt a stab of genuine fear. He had never seen her look like that before. A stranger stared back at him from his sister's face.

'Let go of me, Jon. I can do this – it's the only way.'

He released her and took a few steps back, looking over her head into the interior of the temple. Sunlight flooded the courtyard, clearly illuminating the two men. But through everything – the golden dawn light, the dancing flames – the Amulet of Horus shone like a beacon.

II. The Whirlwind

The two men faced each other, Rick circling around slightly, trying to keep himself clear of the entrance but slowly drawing Barton towards it.

'Is that Evelyn out there?' There was something different in Barton's voice. It was more commanding, but sounded as though it were coming from much further away.

'Yeah. She thinks you're as crazy as I do.' He could barely see the Englishman's face anymore. But the sudden stiffening of his body told Rick that his comment had hit a nerve. He continued, enjoying this form of torture far more than he should. 'Typical, huh? You bend over backwards to impress the hell out of some girl and then she walks off with another guy. But that's women for ya. Looks like being a god isn't gonna be enough, David.'

The earth tremors started again and Rick was nearly thrown to the floor. He braced himself, barely maintaining his balance. Debris fell from the sandstone walls and all the time the white-clad figure kept coming closer.

Evelyn couldn't hear the conversation, but was grateful that whatever was being said was working.

And then the shaking started again.

She steadied herself against the stone monolith at the temple mouth and waited for the tremor to subside.

It didn't.

The low rumbling from deep in the earth increased in volume, sand and stone rained down on them from the huge walls. Evelyn's arm jerked erratically as she raised it again, finally grasping the pistol with both hands. The two figures were close together - far too close for her liking and for the task she had taken upon herself. She tried to block Rick out of her mind. She tried to block out Jonathan's feverish murmured prayers. He had his arms firmly around her waist and was holding her steady, giving her what support he could. It would have to be enough. She concentrated on the unwavering white light of the burning amulet and took careful aim.

Even over the noise of the cracking around them and the deep pounding from some region deep below, the shot rang out clearly in the confines of the temple.

Barton came to an abrupt halt. _'No...'_ That whispered word sounded like a death rattle.

And then it was as though a lightening bolt exploded from the amulet. It shattered and all of its latent power and energy was suddenly unbound. The place where Barton had stood became a shrieking vortex of light, expanding outwards. Its radiance rivalled that of the sun and from somewhere, Rick heard Ardeth's patient voice telling the story of the great ancient battle, _'...Horus flew directly into the sun to look down upon his enemies and so fierce was the stare of the Eye of Horus, that the followers of Seth became confused and slew each other....'_

He started to move, to run, but was too late. He was being drawn into that fierce light, caught in a web of fine white rays that were slowly blocking everything else from his vision.

It was as though the noonday sun had grounded itself in the ruined temple. Evelyn shut her eyes against the coruscating brilliance but the image of what had just happened kept replaying itself. The pistol fell from her nerveless fingers.

'What have I done? Oh God, Jonathan, what have I done?'

He took her by the shoulders and shook her until her teeth rattled.

'This is no time to get hysterical!' he yelped. The panic was rising and every instinct he had told him to take Evelyn and run. That was what he usually did. His sister's body was limp and trembling in his arms and her face - with eyes once again wide open - was turned towards the dazzling interior of the temple. He crushed her to him awkwardly, wanting nothing more than to scream his head off and then flee. But then an unaccustomed feeling, even stronger than that initial instinct, took hold. He could no more leave Rick to his fate than Evelyn could, and the realisation made him feel slightly sick.

Ardeth sheathed his sword - he needed both hands to keep himself upright as he made his way along the wall to the relative shelter of the entrance. Blood oozed from a gash across his shoulder and the fabric of his robes clung to the sticky fluid. His body ached as he moved. A new sound had joined the rumbling cacophony - a high, keening wail. The hot air moved breathlessly against his face and he paused, raising his eyes. The sky had turned a sickly grey and on the horizon - moving towards them inexorably - were ferocious clouds of sand. The arrival of Westerners, he thought grimly, had brought little else but ill fortune to the land of Egypt. Nevertheless, he lowered his head and walked into the teeth of the increasing wind until he reached Jonathan and Evelyn.

'We have to put out the fire,' she informed him as soon as he arrived.

Ardeth gazed wearily at the guttering flames. 'With what? There is no water, we are too far from the river.'

'But-but Rick's still in there!' Her voice rose. 'We have to-'

'There is nothing we can do for him.' He cut her off roughly. 'It is in the hands of Allah. We have to take cover - there is a sandstorm coming.'

It was already upon them, the hot gusts blowing the sand up around them. It was as though the desert itself was rising up in revolt against this outrage perpetrated by man. To some, Egypt is known as 'The Land of Living Sands'. That name had never seemed more appropriate. The wind whipped Evelyn's hair across her face and she tried to shield her face with her hands. The sky was a reddish-black and through the ferocity of the whirling sand, the sun was a pale orange disk in the sky. The Sphinx itself was almost obscured from vision, only its two golden eyes still visible. The sand was everywhere - with every breath they took it choked them and the stinging grains filled their eyes.

Ardeth grabbed hold of Evelyn, forcing her to the ground and then sheltering her with his arms and the heavy folds of his black cloak. Jonathan crouched next to them, tying his handkerchief over his nose and mouth and screwing his eyes up against the desert's onslaught.

III. Sleep When I'm Dead

The pain was indescribable. It invaded every part of his body until he was certain that he would simply be pulled apart by it, that his body would crumble as easily as the desert dust. Every thought was like a knife slicing through his brain. And all the time the blinding light drew him in relentlessly. It was like a great eye, stripping away everything until all that was left was the innermost core of his being. If Rick were capable of imagining anything at that moment, he would have sworn that he imagined two great wings extending from that burning disc – he could almost feel the out-swept tips brushing against his face and hear their expanse beating the air.

Even if he closed his eyes, he could still see. If his eyes actually were closed, he could no longer tell. Rick had moved beyond pain into numbness, which was preferable to the agony and yet infinitely more terrifying. Like being trapped in a nightmare where you will yourself to move but find yourself paralysed. But this was beyond any nightmare he had ever experienced. If this was what it was actually like to be dead, then it was just as well that they taught you to believe in heaven – everyone one on the planet would be seeking immortality otherwise.

Rick was no longer aware of any physical sensation – it was as though his consciousness had simply become a part of whatever it was that surrounded him. There was a steady, rhythmic beat from somewhere and a low murmuring – the sound spilling over itself, as though thousands of voices were all whispering to each other at once.

'Who is it who disturbs the rest of the gods?' This voice was definitely not a whisper. He felt it more than heard it – the words flooding through his mind.

'Don't look at me, I wasn't the one who disturbed you.' He did not speak – he could not speak – but he knew that his thought had been heard. 'Go pick on the other guy.'

'But you are the stronger.'

'Yeah, I get that a lot.' _Sand and blood...shadows in the night...Ardeth..._

'The sons of the desert are wise. So, mortal, do you challenge the power of Seth, Lord of the Damned?'

'No.'

The great rustling stopped. Silence.

'No?'

'No. Thanks for the offer, but no.'

The murmuring resumed and the steady drumming grew louder, slowly drowning out the other sounds. Except for that voice.

'Well, mortal, what _do_ you want?'

It was the sound of his heart beating, he realised. Rick was no longer in numbed suspension, but he could feel himself falling and that terrible brilliance was receding. He was falling into the depths of an endless darkness, illumined only by occasional flashes of light. And in that darkness he found a guiding beacon: a pair of familiar beloved eyes, as changeable and eternal as the desert sands.

The wind had spent itself and an eerie stillness fell upon the plain. Evelyn pushed the heavy folds of Ardeth's cloak from her face and struggled to her feet. Her hair was matted with sweat and dust and her eyes were red. The sandstorm had left a layer of grit on everything – she could feel it on her teeth and under her eyelids when she blinked. Her companions also stirred, raising themselves slowly. With his bedraggled robes, Ardeth resembled a large, dusty crow. Jonathan's hair was so clogged with sand that it looked ash-grey and there was a patch of relatively clean skin where his handkerchief had been, giving his face a curiously two-tone appearance. The sky had returned to a pale, watery blue and only the lightest of breezes stirred the tendrils of Evelyn's hair. She looked up fearfully at the Sphinx, but its sightless eyes stared across the plateau of Giza as impassively as ever.

Ardeth dragged a hand through his hair, pushing it out of his eyes. He saw, with a surge of pleasure and relief, the black-clad forms of his fellow tribesmen making their way towards the temple. It seemed that none of his men had fallen to the murderous rampage of the crocodiles and he offered up a brief prayer to Allah for his mercy. The motionless forms of the crocodiles were visible under the coating of sand, but as the Medjai walked across the enclosure, the bodies simply crumbled to dust.

Ardeth turned his attention back to his two companions and then looked beyond them into the temple. 'We can go in now,' he said softly.

The sand had smothered the flames and only the scorch marks on the stones bore testimony to their presence. Evelyn eased through the entryway and looked around wordlessly. The interior of the temple seemed to have borne the brunt of the storm - great banks of sand had buried some of the fallen monoliths and new fissures had appeared in the walls.

From under the blanket of sand, not too far from where Evelyn stood, something moved. A human form rose up from under the dust, its hands clawing at the soft, uneven ground. The figure shook itself like a large dog, sending up a spray of dust in the process, and then spat out a mouthful of sand. The face was so coated with dust that it resembled a funereal mask – but then the mask cracked into a broad grin and a pair of blue eyes sparkled merrily at her.

Rick O'Connell - battered, bruised, but undefeated – held out his arms to her.

Her body suddenly felt weightless. She skimmed across the sand, throwing her arms around his neck when she reached him.

'You're all dusty,' she informed him a few minutes later, running the back of her hand along his cheek.

'So are you.'

'Are all former Legionnaires this much trouble?'

He grinned. 'Uh-huh.'

Jonathan withdrew his head from the opening and rolled his eyes. 'This could take a while, old boy.'

'I take it that O'Connell is in one piece.'

'Hard to tell - he's got my bloody sister wrapped around him,' he replied, with a snort of disgust. Jonathan settled himself on the ground, his back resting against a large stone and kept his eyes carefully averted from the interior of the temple. 'You should be grateful that you weren't stuck with them all the back from Hamunaptra. Might as well have been just me and the camel for all the company they were. Honestly, Ardeth old man, I didn't know where to look half the time. I, er, don't suppose that you have a drink secreted somewhere in those robes, do you?'

Ardeth smiled and shook his head. 'Regretfully...'

'Ah no. Didn't think so, but it doesn't hurt to ask, does it?'

Ardeth seated himself opposite Jonathan and glanced through the opening. 'Should we call them?'

'No. Give them a few minutes.'

Eventually Evelyn rested her head against Rick's shoulder and mournfully surveyed the devastation around them. 'The Department of Antiquities won't be very happy,' she remarked. 'They only dug the temple out last year.'


	18. Song of the Wind

Author's Note: Okay, this is it, folks - the finish post, the end of the line, the conclusion. In other words, it's all over now. Thank you so much to everyone who has read it, reviewed it, encouraged and inspired me. There are far too many of you for me to mention here - and I wouldn't want to leave anyone out - so this is a huge 'THANK YOU' to you all. I had no idea when the idea for this story first occurred to me that it would take 18 Chapters before it was done, but it has and I hope that you've had as much fun reading them as I have writing them.

I won't be posting anything for a while, but I am going to start on some new Mummy fics soon (yay!). In the meantime, enjoy the end of 'Deeper Within Darkness' ... who knows, there might even be a sequel to it one day...

Chapter Eighteen: Song of the Wind

"CAIRO-The recent sequence of unusual events in the Egyptian capital culminated this week with the death of promising young archaeologist David Barton. Mr Barton, it is believed, was caught in a hazardous sandstorm that struck the Giza plateau in the early hours of Thursday morning. Despite the rumours circulating amongst the English contingent of Cairo society – as well as the more sensational publications – that Mr Barton was a believer in the occult and had possible dealings with persons involved in the illicit trade of stolen antiquities, the Cairene authorities have pronounced Mr Barton's death as accidental and are not looking for any other persons in connection with his unfortunate demise."

Evelyn folded up the newspaper soberly and replaced it on the table. 'I wonder if his mother is still alive. Cheltenham, I think it was...'

Rick, Ardeth and Mansour had dug Barton's body out from under the sand in the ruined temple. Rick would have been perfectly happy to leave him there, but Ardeth was determined to recover the amulet. In the event, there had not been much to recover. They had located his partially burnt remains easily enough – and what was left of the amulet. The pieces of lapis and carnelian had been shattered into what they could only guess were innumerable pieces; the gold setting had melted into a shapeless mass under the ferocious heat – and intermingled with the gold was the casing from Evelyn's bullet. Of the papyrus, there was no trace on Barton's body. But as it was useless and harmless without the amulet, Ardeth had graciously stated that Evelyn could do with the document as she saw fit, should she find it.

'Consider it a wedding gift, Seshat,' he had said, with his habitual enigmatic smile. The twisted remnants of the Amulet of Horus, that one-time vessel of ancient divine power, would be taken deep into the desert to be guarded by the Medjai elders. Ardeth had made a solemn vow, however, that he would be back in Cairo within a week for Rick and Evelyn's marriage.

The Cairo police had examined the scene, the body and, after wondering at the eccentricities of the Westerners and scratching their heads in bafflement, had pronounced Barton's death a tragic accident and washed their hands of the whole affair. After all, what was another dead Englishman in Egypt these days?

And so all that remained were a few lines in a newspaper.

Despite the terrors and agonising grief she had endured, Evelyn indulged in a brief nostalgia – bittersweet memories of a person she had once known.

'I wouldn't dwell on it, Evy,' Jonathan said airily. 'It's all over now. Best forgotten.'

Forgotten? Evelyn was not certain that she would ever forget the horrors of the last few days. In many ways, it had been far worse than dealing with a resurrected mummy - that had simply been the visceral horror of walking corpses, scarabs that devoured human flesh and the fear of being offered up as a ritual sacrifice. The horror of confronting the deaths of the two people she loved most in the world was far worse than anything Imhotep had ever done to her.

However, Jonathan's statement had been partially accurate - it was over. In the past. And she had a future to concentrate on. And not really a future that she had envisioned for herself. Her eyes alighted on Rick. It was probably not the future _he_ had ever envisioned for himself, now that she came to think about it. A soldier, an adventurer...not really the sort of man to marry anyone, let alone a librarian.

In the lamplight, he looked surprisingly mellow, as though some of his restless energy had abated momentarily.

Evelyn watched him thoughtfully for a moment, a gentle smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

'What?'

'I was just thinking of you – Mr Richard O'Connell, the married man.'

Rick grunted. 'Call me Richard again and you may never make it down that aisle. Jonathan will have to take you back on.'

'Oh God no!' Jonathan interjected feelingly. 'You wanted her; you're bloody well taking her. She's off my hands once and for all – your bloody look out now, Rick.'

Evelyn eyed her brother sardonically. 'It's so nice to see that fraternal affection is still springing in your breast.'

He returned her gaze in mock innocence. 'My dear, darling, baby sister – there comes a time in every man's life when he must grasp at the straws of his bachelor freedom before it is too late, and old age makes pleasure seeking both impractical and impossible. The presence of one's younger sister is, not to put too fine a point on it, something of a hindrance.'

_'Never seemed to stop you before,'_ Evelyn thought, but decided to refrain from stating the obvious.

Jonathan stood, straightened his tie and adjusted his silk handkerchief with a flourish. 'Well, children, on that note, I bid you both a goodnight – and flights of angels sing thee to thy rest, as it were.'

'You're in a disgustingly good mood tonight,' Evelyn remarked and then narrowed her eyes suspiciously. 'Where are you off to at this time of night, anyway?'

'Ah, well, I have a very promising rendezvous with a very promising little redhead...'

'That's probably more than we needed to know, Jon,' Rick observed.

'Spoken like a respectable affianced man,' Jonathan said admiringly. 'Well done.' He wandered towards the door. 'Goodnight, mes enfants. And, er, Evy – try not to raise any mummies or anything while I'm gone, will you? There's a good girl.'

'Ooh!'

The door banged shut behind him and they could hear his cheerful whistle echoing along the corridor.

'Is he always like that when he's, er, got a, er...'

Evelyn nodded. 'Always.'

Rick nodded wisely. 'Ah.'

Evelyn sighed and stretched her arms along the top of the sofa, letting her head fall back as she uttered a little sigh of contentment. Rick watched her, fascinated by the curve of her exposed neck and the movement of her soft curves under her starched blouse. He wondered vaguely if she had any idea of the excruciating effect she had on him – a definite glint in his direction from under her half-closed lids left him in no doubt. He remembered another similar encounter – the night of the Embassy reception – and his thoughts at the time. That Evelyn Carnahan could tease him half to death without even trying; when she did try, his chances of survival were zero. Still, if he had to choose a death, it was one hell of a way to go.

She arched her back luxuriously and then sat back against the cushions. 'It's late,' she observed softly.

_'Great. Here we go again,'_ he thought. 'Ready to go to bed?'

She nodded, her eyes smoky in the dim light.

'Want me to talk to you while you're getting changed again?'

Her breath seemed to catch slightly in her throat and her cheeks were suddenly stained with a faint pink flush. 'Um, yes.'

She wandered into the bedroom, Rick trailing obediently behind her, already steeling himself for the inevitable moment when he would have to forcibly remove himself from her side. But if that was the way that Evelyn wanted to play it for now, he wouldn't try to pressure her. She was a lady and he would attempt to play the part of a gentleman until she was ready.

Once he had entered her room, Evelyn turned to him as though about to speak and then suddenly frowned. She moved passed him, back into the sitting room. Unsure what to do, Rick remained where he was. He could hear her moving about – what sounded like the door being locked and then the handle tried to make sure. Evelyn re-entered, closing the bedroom and then locking it. She removed the key and then walked across to her dressing table – two keys were deposited into a box before she turned to face Rick triumphantly. 'There.'

Her eyes were luminous, expectant and her cheeks were still slightly flushed.

'Er, yeah...' Rick looked over his shoulder at the door; but, finding no answers, he returned his gaze to Evelyn.

'Jonathan did say that we should keep the door locked,' she explained.

Rick stared at her for a moment before realisation of the implications of her statement sank in. A jolt, like a current of electricity, suddenly ran through him and for a brief moment he experienced that bizarre sensation of being completely separate from his physical being. That sensation did only last for a moment: the next second he was all too aware of his own body – and hers, on the other side of the room.

Evelyn's mouth had gone very dry. She wished that he would say something – or, better yet, sweep across the room and carry her off. Once again, however, real life bore no resemblance to novels or films. In fiction, the dashing hero would simply grab hold of his chosen female and have his wicked way with her, whether she was willing or not. The girl did not usually have to ask him to indulge in said behaviour. Evelyn swallowed hard against the lump in her throat and forced herself to meet her fianc's uncharacteristically subdued expression. 'I, er, I know that I must have seemed the most terrible tease to you, of late... I just – Rick, I never meant to be! I know that it must have been very frustrating...'

'That's one way of putting it.' His voice sounded strained.

'It isn't because I don't want... I mean, I _thought_...' Evelyn let out a shaky breath and started to feel increasingly foolish. Words, which had always been one of her talents, were failing her. Maybe it was best to keep it simple. 'I don't want to wait anymore.'

His body was tensed, but something in the rigidity of his gaze flickered. 'Are you sure that's what you want, Evelyn?'

'Yes.'

He held her eyes, looking intently into their depths. What he found there snapped the tension in him; Evelyn was barely aware of him moving toward her before he caught hold of her. His mouth took possession of hers and she responded with a fierce passion that surprised her. Her feet were no longer touching the ground and she had the dizzying, thrilling feeling of being carried through the air, a pair of strong arms supporting her.

Rick lowered her onto the bed and then looked down at her – her spread wildly across the pillow, her eyes dark and inviting. He ran his thumb lightly across her lips and then across her cheek, slowly tracing the line of her neck until he was following the unbuttoned collar of her blouse. His fingers brushed softly against the exposed skin just above the first button and a shiver ran through her.

He looked at her questioningly one last time. 'Are you-'

'I'm sure,' she replied. Evelyn sat up suddenly and began her own assault upon the buttons of his shirt. He caught hold of her wrists and pushed her back down, shifting his grip so that his fingers interlaced with hers. A playful smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

'Okay then.'

Fiction, Evelyn decided, had nothing on real life.

* * *

Rick, still half asleep, reached for her in the darkness. His hand groped blindly for a moment. The sheets still retained some of her warmth, but Evelyn was gone. His eyes snapped open and he sat bolt upright. Through the soft folds of the mosquito netting, he could see a glow of light from the adjoining room. Rick brushed the netting aside impatiently, almost bringing the entire structure down on his head in the process. He gritted his teeth – Evelyn's influence was obviously manifesting itself in a number of wholly unexpected ways. He didn't bother to dress, but strode across the room and then paused in the doorway.

Evelyn was on the sofa: her hair was loosely pinned and she had pulled on Rick's shirt – he observed her exposed legs appreciatively, even if they were tucked under her. She was examining what looked suspiciously like a papyrus by the light of a lamp she had placed on the coffee table. She was surrounded by numerous other manuscripts and books and Rick felt his heart sink. After the death of the late, unlamented David Barton, the authorities had sent all of the papyri and other accoutrements they had recovered from his lodgings to the museum. Rick recognised one or two of the more choice items as belonging to that particular collection.

'Are you supposed to have those here?'

She started slightly and then looked at him over the top of her glasses. 'Did I wake you?' she asked softly.

'Me? Nah. I was just lying down in a darkened room with my eyes closed, but asleep? 'Course not' He padded across the room to her and leant against one arm of the sofa before inquiring conversationally, 'Honey, whatcha doin'?'

'I remembered looking over this papyrus earlier, wh-when I first unpacked it – it really had been stored and handled in the most atrocious manner. You know, I may need to have a word with the Chief of Police about the way in which they care for stolen antiquities that have fallen into their possession.'

'Yeah, good luck with that.'

'Anyway, I hadn't really examined the specimens properly, but then I remembered this papyrus-'

Rick groaned audibly. He could already see the danger signs – Evelyn's face had flushed pink and she was almost stammering with excitement. 'Great. Another piece of old paper-'

'_Papyrus_, Rick. And it isn't an antique, that's just the thing. Although it's written in hieroglyphics and hieratics, and it's written on papyrus, it's fairly new. I-I don't even think it's one hundred years old. You see... Rick?' She looked at the place her fiancé had recently inhabited and frowned. Carefully placing the papyrus on the table, Evelyn moved silently back into the darkened bedroom. She stood, her arms folded, and regarded the recumbent form on the bed, the sheets pulled up over his head.

'Rick. Rick, I know you're not asleep.'

Nothing.

She sighed and pulled at the mosquito netting. A few minutes passed as she attempted to find a convenient opening, her irritation mounting. When she finally had access, she perched on the edge of the bed.

'Don't you want to hear what I've discovered?'

'No.'

'As I said,' she continued briskly, 'the papyrus is not an antiquity, but – oh Rick, one of the hieratics pertains to Cleopatra's Needle! If we could just-'

He sat bolt upright, the sudden movement almost knocking her off her seat – his eyes shone silver in the dim light. 'You want to go marching around the desert to look _for a needle?_'

'Ooh! Don't shout!' She scolded.

'I am not...' He took a deep breath before continuing in a more reasonable tone. 'I am not shouting. But seriously Evy – a needle?'

Evelyn sighed and removed her glasses. 'It isn't an actual needle; it's just called a needle. It's an obelisk, Rick, and it isn't in the desert, it's in London. On the Embankment'

'Oh...okay.' He blinked. 'Hold up... There's an Egyptian obelisk in the middle of London?'

'Yes. It was taken over there to celebrate Napoleon's defeat. Although, it was about sixty years _after_ Napoleon's defeat, but-'

'Evy...'

She broke off at his long-suffering plea.

'From what I can make out of the papyrus, it may describe the resting place of ancient treasures – hidden in London – to which Cleopatra's Needle may be the key.'

She saw the flicker of interest in his eyes and decided to press home her advantage. 'After all, we _are _going to be leaving for London soon anyway and-'

'Evelyn,' Rick said firmly, holding her gaze, 'we're getting married next week, remember?'

Her eyes widened indignantly. 'Of _course_ I remember that!'

'Uh-huh. And I'm gonna go out on a limb here and guess that you're planning on Jonathan travelling with us all the way back to London for this little adventure?'

'Well, we can't very well leave him out of it...'

'Evelyn,' he said her name with as much patience as he could muster, 'let me just say this again: we - that's you and me - are getting married. Next week. My plans for after that are made up purely of you not wearing any clothes until... Well, ever.' Rick gave her what he fondly imagined was a roguish smile. 'Now, fond as I am of your brother, us all hanging out together is gonna ruin the plans - you understand what I'm saying?'

Evelyn bit her lip, raising her eyes to his face slowly. In her excitement over the papyrus, that particular scenario had not entered into her considerations. 'It would be a little...inconvenient.'

Rick snorted. 'You think? Jeez, you English really love your understatement, don't you?'

'Don't try to change the subject - I know you too well now, remember?'

'I remember. And I plan on us getting to know each other on a regular basis over the next few weeks.'

Evelyn laughed slightly, but then a frown spread over her face like a shadow. 'Rick, you know when you euphemistically referred to Selina as a man-eater?'

'Actually, I think that was you. I was gonna say-' Evelyn's eyes narrowed. 'Good time girl?' he offered, weakly.

'Anyway, as I was saying - well, what I mean is... You-you don't think that _I'm_ a... Now that we've-'

The laughter died out of Rick's face. 'Evelyn...' He was speechless for a moment. 'Are you okay? Have I... Did-didn't you enjoy-'

'Oh no, I didn't mean that! It-it was wonderful,' she breathed, her face suddenly radiant. 'I just wondered if-if you...'

Rick took hold of her fluttering hands and leaned forward, gazing deeply into her eyes. 'We haven't done anything wrong. We're engaged - and even if we weren't, we still wouldn't have done anything wrong,' he added, defiantly. 'And there is nothing you could do that would ever make me think any less of you. You...' He released one of her hands and cupped her face, gently caressing her face. 'You're amazing. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me and now that I've got you, there is nothing that would make me let you go again. I love you, Evelyn. You know that don't you?'

She felt something catch in her throat. It was more the way he looked at her than what he said that made her heart lurch so painfully.

Rick cleared his throat self-consciously and then added, 'Of course, if you _did_ want to become a man-eater, you can eat me any ol' time you feel like.'

'Ooh, and just when I was thinking that that was the closest to a flowery speech you've ever come.'

'You better take that back or you won't be getting your honeymoon. If you want flowery speeches, go talk to Ardeth. He's got a whole bunch of 'em. Even one specially for us.'

'Really?' She shifted position, causing the half-buttoned shirt to display a tempting amount of skin. 'How did it go?'

Rick dragged his eyes back from the half-hidden view of paradise her attire afforded him. 'Huh? Oh I dunno, something about wind. And sand. Guess if you live in the desert, that's pretty much all you've got to work with.'

'You mentioned something about a honeymoon,' she reminded him, briefly fantasising about a few blissfully uninterrupted weeks alone with her handsome Legionnaire. Not that she was about to let him know that she would give into him so easily. It was far too dangerous a precedent to set.

'Right. Which brings me back to what I started saying...' Rick slipped his arms around her waist and pulled her closer to him. 'Now, I'm guessing that your needle thing-'

'Obelisk.'

'Yeah, that, has been hanging around London for a while now, no?'

'Hanging around? Is that a technical archaeological term?'

Rick applied a swift squeeze to her ribs, effectively silencing her. 'Cut out the wisecracks, Carnahan.'

'Bully,' she muttered. 'Yes, it's been there for about-'

'My point is,' he interrupted hastily before being given an in-depth history lesson on Cleopatra's Needle and Napoleon's Egyptian Campaign, 'I don't think that anyone is gonna be running off with it anytime soon. And we are the only ones who know about this papyrus, right?'

Evelyn sighed heavily. 'I suppose so.'

'So...' His hands started to trace lazy patterns along her back and he leaned closer to her, kissing the soft hollow behind her ear. 'I was thinking we go to London, but Jonathan goes on ahead. Y'know, sorts out your flat, stuff like that...' His lips traced the line of her neck down to the base of her throat. 'We stop off somewhere in Europe for a few weeks... Rome, maybe. Or Paris...'

'Mm, I've never been to Paris,' Evelyn said indistinctly.

'That way Jonathan gets us out of his hair for a few weeks; I get you all to myself and you get your obelisk when we reach London.' His voice was a low purr against her neck, his lips brushing tantalisingly over her skin as he spoke.

'Oh, that isn't fair,' she murmured. Evelyn suddenly pulled back and looked at him severely. 'Don't think that you can simply kiss me into letting you have your own way.'

He grinned. 'Why? Would that work?'

A playful glint entered her eyes. 'Maybe.'

Rick O'Connell knew a challenge when he heard one. Evelyn Carnahan had been a challenge ever since he had first laid eyes on her – there was no reason why that should change now. Besides, he liked a challenge.

'Want me to give you a hand out of that shirt?'

'Will it still be in one piece afterwards?'

'Probably not.'

'Poor shirt.'

'I'll buy a new one.'

There was no sleep that night. The first rays of the dawn sun had long since entered the shuttered room, gently illuminating the tangle of sheets and bodies on the bed, but the two occupants were oblivious. The low murmur of their voices was punctuated by laughter and the occasional sigh. After the darkness there is light; and after the storm there is peace. It is doubtful, however, that such thoughts entered the lovers' conversation. They were aware only of each other – and possibly the knowledge that their adventure was only just beginning.

_THE END___


End file.
